My Room Mate Is A Brain Slug B0-B9

CHAPTER 111

The Tokyo Hive is still based around Tokyo Ramen. Kim and Ai are still there. The staff consists entirely of brain slug hosts and has expanded to become a tourist attraction. Cultural anthropologists and xenologists have studied this unique case of human and alien symbiosis. Toshiro Kim had not just given Ai Nakamura food, shelter, and a job--he gave her a home. It was a very human thing to do.

--Anaïs Nineveh, The Exodus: A History, Chapter 7

"Did I say too much?" Mel asked.

It was dark out now, properly dark, and Jenny and Jordan were on either side of him, arms locked as they navigated the less-crowded sidewalks. The evening was cool, but the sounds and smells of the city had shifted to dinner- and bar-time. Mel had time to think. Too much time, maybe. Running over the dinner conversations in his head. Things he should have said, should have asked Amelia.

"I mean, I know she's lonely. I know what it's like, being an orphan, being alone. We share that connection. But I didn't want to... I appreciate what we have, the four of us. I don't want to hurt that. I guess I don't know what the rules are. Like, obviously, no sexual contact without permission, but if we talk, does that make you jealous? Should I not have made the offer? I don't want to lead Amelia on either, because I'm with you and I can't... maybe I'm overthinking this. I just don't want to give the wrong impression. I want to be a friend to her. Just a friend."

At least I'm thinking, Mel told himself ruefully. If a little late.

Jenny and Jordan were silent. He wished, not for the first time, that he knew more sign language. The little he'd learned had been useful, but full conversations, especially about this kind of stuff, would have to wait until they got to a pen and paper, or Rachel's smartphone. Yet he felt better getting it off his chest, saying it out loud. Mel didn't want them to think he had thoughts about Amelia. Not that way.

Béibhinn was in the kitchen, dressed in tight-fitting undershorts and a sports bra, pinching what looked like inch-long worms or grubs into her mouth. Rachel was there, looking tired in a cardigan and pajama bottoms. She waved at the trio as they came in. Each of them kissed her on the lips, the brain slug hosts filing to the bathroom to brush their teeth.

"So," Rachel said with a waggle of her eyebrows. "How did it go?"

"Dinner and the recording went well," he said, then looked the ghola in the eye. "But I think I screwed up again this morning, so I should tell you that first."

So Mel explained about the Rhizomat, the dreamsinging, the mural, and then, finally, Amelia and the tit-fucking.

"... the pork was really good," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, maybe I should get a sous vide machine and learn how to use it."

"Not the worst idea you've ever had," Rache noted. She had become very focused during the scenes describing the recording. He could almost see Rache itch to take out her phone and see if Amelia had posted the video yet.

Béibhinn sucked down the last worm and swallowed it. She stared Mel in the eye. There was something very unnerving about that stare, but Mel didn't try to look away. He had resolved that whatever ass-chewing was coming his way, he probably deserved it.

"Question," she said. "At any point did the Rhizomat say they were sent by, or affiliated with, MacElroy or the community?"

Mel blinked. He re-ran the conversation in his head. Swallowed hard.

"No," he said. "I... assumed."

Béibhinn shook her head.

"Rhizomats aren't like other species, Mel. Most of the sentient extraterrestrials you meet are recognizably animals. The eaters-of-filth are alien even by our standards. One of the few species that can xenoscape a planet on their own. They're nearly essential to many ships, managing systems of recycling waste, air, and water. The plumbers of the galaxy. Worse than that. They're esoteric thinkers, philosophers. Their 'dreamsinging' isn't just hours of shared psychedelic experience; they can hack computers and any neural network that uses electromagnetic fields," the ghola said. "And their biology is robust. Spores can germinate years or decades later if conditions are right, grow a new Rhizomat, start an entire cycle of colonization. If Earth biology wasn't already so resilient, you probably would have Rhizomats on every continent except Antarctica by now."

"Oh," Mel said, shoulders slumping. "I didn't know."

It felt inadequate.

"No one told you," Béibhinn said. "But this could be a problem. I'll need to call MacElroy."

Jordan tapped the fridge. She had spelled out a simple message in magnetic letters.

BRUSH YOUR TEETH

CLEAN UP

GIRLS NEED TO TALK

So, Mel went into the bathroom to scrub his chompers and wipe down his junk. Some of Amelia's milk had dried into little white flakes, and Mel carefully wiped himself clean. He heard Rachel and Béibhinn talking; Jordan and Jenny would be silent, probably using the ghola or Rachel's phone to carry their part of the conversation. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as the import of Béibhinn's question sank in.

If MacElroy hadn't sent the Rhizomat, if it had just shown up on its own, then Mel might have spilled a lot of information--again--to a completely third party.

By the time he emerged, the ladies seemed to be coming to a decision. Jordan and Jenny were holding hands with the ghola, while Rachel tapped at her phone.

"... about Molly?" Rachel asked.

"Not really relevant, yet," Béibhinn said. "Ah, Mel. Good to join us. We have a proposal."

Mel blinked.

"So far," Rachel said. "You've been very good about asking permission before having sex with other people. Hell, you've been supervised. And while you're not very good at this spy stuff, you are loyal, and we do trust you. So... Jenny, Jordan, and I want to make an addendum to the relationship. Friends with benefits. People we agree that we can have sex with. Approved by everyone ahead of time. Only with protection! And we keep the others informed."

Mel blinked again.

"That's... sudden," he said. "Who do you have in mind?"

Rachel showed him the smartphone. There was a list.

Cara.

Maxine MacNamara.

Amelia O'Hara.

Béibhinn O'Malley.

"So blowjobs, vaginal, hand stuff, all fine," Rache said. "Just as long as you're using protection. You don't have to ask permission if Amelia wants you to do a shoot or Maxine needs an emergency blowjob. But you do need to tell us about it, let us know to gauge the risks, include all the spicy details. And of course, the same applies to us if we want to hook up."

Mel blinked. Most of these were women he'd been with already. He wasn't opposed to his girlfriends making out with any of them.

"Um. Okay. That sounds good to me. I'll do my best to be worthy of your trust," he said.

"Good," Béibhinn said and stabbed a finger into his chest. "Now take off your pants. You've caused me a headache, and you're going to make it up to me."

"Bwah?" he asked.

"You and me," the ghola said. "I'm going to suck you off, and you're going to fill a condom, and I'm going to get a meal out of it."

"Don't worry about us," Rachel said, as Jordan and Jenny began to unbutton her cardigan. "We're going to keep each other occupied for a little while, in my room."

Mel nodded. He realized, belatedly, that Jordan and Jenny hadn't started stripping the moment they entered the apartment. Had they been planning this? How long ago had they decided this was going to happen?

Béibhinn held up a condom as his girlfriends went across the hall.

"Focus!" she said, voice raspy in a way that Mel translated as weirdly eager.

Mel nodded. Nothing about tonight had gone quite the way that he thought it would. Yet now, at least, he was given an opportunity to make up to the ghola for at least a small part of his carelessness. If she let him.

"So, um, how do you want to do this, B?" Mel said with a shy smile.

"I'll lie on the bed," Béibhinn motioned toward her room. "You can fuck my face. Just give me the condom when you're done."

Mel frowned. That sounded so cold. Clinical.

"This is going to sound weird, but--can I eat you out? I know I've caused you some trouble, and while I can't really make it up to you, I'd at least like to do something to apologize," he said.

She blinked those yellow-tinged eyes. A purple tongue ran over her lips. For the first time since he met her, the ghola seemed almost nervous. She froze, with an anxious readiness that reminded him of that first night when Rachel had come in unexpectedly, and Béibhinn had come out with a weapon, ready to fight.

"You don't have to," she said.

"But I want to," Mel said. He thought about what he'd seen on the oral sex videos. "We're supposed to be friends. This doesn't have to be transactional. We can have fun, too. Do you have anything we can use for a dental dam?"

"Of course," Béibhinn said automatically. Yet it took her a moment to move, turning back to her room.

Mentally, Mel found himself thinking about what Jordan, Jenny, and Rache were getting up to. Three women together--he hoped Rache would give him the details on that. As the ghola fetched the dental dam, Mel shucked off his clothes. He found, pleasantly, that he was already getting hard. A weird, nervous excitement, mingled with relief, had sent a surge of blood into his shaft, and the condom slid on easily.

When he stood at the doorway to her room, Béibhinn had already taken off her few clothes. Once again he noticed the scars along her arms, and in other places. Some of those were old injuries from the host's death or before, but the later ones were pink, not quite fresh. Augmentations of some kind, maybe. Mel remembered what she had said, about a body being like a car to customize. There was no telling what she had under the hood.

Without asking, she lay on the bed, breasts in the air. Her short greenish hair hung down as she opened her mouth wide, arms spread wide so that the wrists hung off the sides of the single bed.

Instead of jamming himself straight into her throat, he dropped to one knee.

"Are you comfortable like that?" he said, and when Béibhinn nodded, he asked: "Is it okay if I touch you first?"

Her brow furrowed, which looked funny upside-down, but she nodded, mouth still open, like a patient in a dentist's chair, not wanting to close the workplace down prematurely.

Mel laid his hands gently on her clavicles. She was warm. The skin was dry. His fingers moved in slow circles, tracing scars and the slight plumpness of her small breasts. The skin still had that greyish pallor, but this close he could see the darker veins beneath it, and tiny white branches that were something else--maybe the tissue the ghola-worm had grown as it moved to integrate into this body. Repair. Re-route around damaged sections. Restart the heart.

He was careful not to poke Béibhinn in the nose with his stiffy as he moved further down the body. She had sick abs, the skin almost transparent. The mons was puffy, hairless, smooth and waxy; the inner labia hung out, dark, thick, and as Mel gently placed the thin, transparent rectangle of plastic over the orifice, oddly pungent with a scent that was like but unlike Rache, Jordan, or Jenny.

Something nibbled gently on his glans, and Mel looked down to see that the ghola was trying to guide the prick into her mouth with her tongue. He obligingly shifted, felt the warm suction tug on the tip.

Mel was not prepared when she grabbed his buttocks with both hands and pulled him in deep, until he could feel her nose poke into his balls. There was no hesitation, no working up to it. That alone was weird and almost inhuman to Mel. The other women had at least hesitated, worked up to it, but she just swallowed it, like a nature documentary of a snake and some small, squirming mammal.

One deep breath, and Mel pushed his lips against the small, dark spot which should be where Béibhinn's clitoris was. There wasn't really any response from her, so Mel pushed harder--and Mel felt her body tense and flex, her abs rubbing against his stomach for a moment. Taking that as a good sign, Mel continued to apply steady pressure, even as his hips began to move, grinding slowly against the ghola's face.

It was different, working through the dental dam. His usual technique of trying to run his tongue up and down the inside of her labia was less effective, and he found himself rubbing and gumming the lips through the plastic, always returning to the clit, using more force than he would have otherwise. Mel could feel the heat of her, the blood flowing into her genitals, but couldn't taste it, and that odd smell grew stronger.

Nor did his hands stop. Rubbing those thick, muscular thighs, sliding them under so that he could squeeze her buttocks a little. His hips had started a steady rhythm, not pulling out of her mouth much at all, but shifting inside of it, the stiff length of him feeling like he was teasing the entrance of her throat, her tongue a warm mat lubricating the whole experience.

She was responding. Mel could feel Béibhinn's body tensing regularly now. Not moaning, almost as silent as Jordan and Jenny, but her hands were squeezing his ass regularly now, and Mel found himself straining to hold on as the pressure behind his balls built and built, the anticipation rising, his face hot as he tried to suck her stiff little clit through the thin dental dam as hard as he could.

Her whole body arched. Then, for a moment, she lost control. Spasmed wildly, thrashing. Mel was spurting before he realized what was happening, and swiftly clambered off of her, pulling the swollen cum reservoir from her throat as Béibhinn coughed, hacked, and curled onto her side.

"Oh shit, shit, sorry, are you okay? Did I hurt you?" he knelt by the bed, and all he could see was the yellow of her eyes, her body coughing on autopilot. The white ghola-worm on her back was wriggling in its channel of flesh as if trying to tear itself out or dig itself further in.

Briefly, Mel wondered what to do. Throw on some pants, cross the hall, get Jordan and Jenny--then the cough stopped. Béibhinn blinked rapidly, and then her eyes were back. They focused on the swollen balloon hanging off Mel's dick.

She sat up with a terrible speed and control, totally in control of herself, and held out a hand. Mel peeled off the condom and handed it to her. Béibhinn didn't even hesitate, just tilted back her head and poured it over her tongue. Her mouth opened so wide that, from this angle, Mel could actually see that the roof of her mouth was gone, a white orifice where the pink arch should be. As she sucked the last drop out, her eyes met his.

"Sorry. Wasn't expecting to actually cum tonight," she said. Her grin was ghastly. "First time for everything, I suppose."

CHAPTER 112

Ramen is best when shared with those you love.

--1,001 Ways to Cook Ramen

Pssssssssst.

The frost was spreading out from the punctured chamber. Mel's breath came out in frosty gasps, sucked toward the hole in the hull. Water flowed around the splayed toes of his foot, and he tried to avoid touching anything metal with his gnarled, four-fingered manipulator.

In the black, mirrored surfaces of the broken screens, Mel caught hints of his appearance, oddly skewed. The dark, vermillion skullcap; a scrawny caricature of the humanoid form. The tool harness jangled on a body of delicate fibers corded into strong, rope-like tendrils, tensing and releasing to drive himself forward through the freezing water, oxygen levels dropping with each step.

The other chambers were all sealed; the occupants safe. All except the one at the far end, the one nearest the outer hull. Its heavy door hung askew, and Mel braced himself as he moved forward, a small white form flashing out of the corner of his vision. He pulled the door open and saw the aching emptiness, the occupant lost, the stars spinning outside. A terrible sense of loss filled Mel, a loss for something or someone he could not name.

"Hurry," a voice chirped in his ear, the implant connected directly to the ship's system. "We're losing atmosphere."

He maneuvered the heavy patch into place. A rare-earth magnet, with a fringe of steel, that he began to weld in place using a hand tool. A rad meter clicked; the reason they couldn't send anyone else. This cosmic accident had already cost them dearly. That aching loss grew as the temperature slowly stabilized, oxygen levels rising. Not a perfect fix. Later, he would have to go on a spacewalk, patch the other side. It wasn't even clear if this ship would survive re-entry, but...

... Mel saw now what he had missed earlier. What had been drawn on the inside walls of the pod. Dark images scored and scratched by hand. Half-familiar faces, bodies of bisymmetrical humanoids with five fingers. Mel stared at his hands. The fibers began to unbind, rework themselves. The strong pincers and manipulators reshaping themselves into something else. Four fingers and an opposable thumb.

Except that was impossible. They weren't supposed to be conscious in the pods. Stuck alone, they would go mad...

--

Jordan shook Mel's shoulder. He blinked awake and looked where she pointed. Jenny was stiff, rigid, eyes burning beneath her eyelids, even her brain slug a lurid transparent green as bright as a nightlight. Her face was twisted in a primal mask of pain, mouth open as if caught in a scream, but the only thing that came from her throat was a kind of high-pitched, garbled hiss, so soft that Mel couldn't have heard it if he wasn't right next to her.

Immediately, Mel started to rub Jenny's arms, to pull her close. Yet it reminded him once when he had strayed in his biology class and tried to hug the plastic skeleton that hung in the corner. The utter lifeless lack of response. Except Jenny was warm, present, here--and, obviously, suffering.

Mel didn't know what to do except hold her.

Jordan came back to bed with something in her hand. Mel wasn't sure what was going on until she untied his fundoshi and slid her hand between their bodies to slip the condom over his morning wood. Jordan's eyes glowed as she pressed her hands against Jenny's body--and where she touched, the stiffness relaxed, if only for a moment.

Is she... overriding Jenny's brain slug? Mel wondered. He had never thought that one brain slug could command or control another, yet Jenny was still clearly out of it, eyes tightly shut, the whites glowing beneath the lids so that he could see the veins. Most of the naked woman remained with muscles contracted, unnaturally tense. Yet he didn't know what else to do. So he hung on to Jenny, and Jordan, one touch at a time, slid the other brain slug host's legs open, lifted her up, and guided the naked young woman onto him.

Jenny was relaxed, and Mel slid in easily, but as soon as Jordan's hands moved away, the muscles locked in place. Mel's eyes watered immediately at the impossible tightness, squeezing hard. Not trying to push him out, but contracting her vagina as tightly as possible. He felt the pulse throb in the big vein within his trapped member, each heartbeat fighting against the terrible pressure.

Not sure what else to do, Mel ran his hands down Jenny's bare back. Found her buttocks and squeezed gently.

"Hey," he whispered. "It's okay. You're safe. Jordan and I are here..."

He wasn't sure if it was working, except that Jenny's breathing changed. Her eyes, which were moving beneath the closed lids, seemed to focus. Mel decided the stimulation was working. Jordan saw it too. Laid her hands on Jenny's shoulders and closed her eyes. Not trying to override this time. Maybe just talk? Mel didn't know, and couldn't really ask, not in the dark with both hands full of ass, a naked brain slug host in his lap.

So he did what he could.

Thrusting wasn't really possible. Instead, he rocked back and forth on the bed. Just a little bit of movement, but that stimulation was more than nothing. His hands didn't stop, moving slowly up and down from her buttocks to her lower back and down again. Mel could feel Jenny's little nipples grow hard as they brushed against his chest.

The kiss was tentative. Her mouth was still wide open, locked in an almost-silent scream. Mel's lips touched the very corner of her mouth. A shudder went through her body. He kissed her again, at the corner of her jaw. Felt his own body grow warm as he continued to move, the slow, familiar build-up starting inside his body, the gradual excitement rising as he moved, his hips shifting back and forth, his kisses spreading down her neck and then up again, to kiss the lobe of Jenny's right ear.

It wasn't like a dam breaking. There was no sudden moment when Jenny came out of it. Yet as Mel moved, the muscles inside the pussy began to move with him. Releasing and contracting. Her body began to grow hot, the little sound she was making petered out, and her mouth closed. Little by little, the tension eased, until her eyes fluttered open and she was breathing, deeply and evenly, face the placid mask he'd come to recognize as her resting expression. Her upper body sagged against him, chin over his shoulder, while her lower body tensed and relaxed, moving with them, prick beginning to slide in and out now.

There was a jangle of cans. Jordan slipped off the bed. Jenny was moving more now. Not making sounds, but pushing her hands against Mel's shoulders. He went with it, letting her press him into the mattress. Moving her body into a more comfortable position as she began to gyrate her hips. Head high, losing herself in that moment as Mel moved his right hand around to her front, his thumb running down her crotch until he found the little ridge of her clitoral hood.

Her mouth opened again, but the tiny sound that came out this time wasn't the silent scream of before. Just a little gasp, and her nails dug into his shoulders, her buttocks moving faster now. She wasn't much for the thrust or pump, Mel realized; she was focused on the grind, her hips pressing against his and rarely making a lot of in-and-out contact, rubbing her labia against him, squeezing his hardness as her breath came faster, not in the panic of before but in eagerness, rising anticipation.

The final gallop was nothing like anything Mel had experienced. Jenny's hips slammed against his in a series of short, powerful, impossibly fast grinding thrusts that had her gasping for air, sweat dripping off her body, lost in a race with her own body and Mel holding on for dear life, one hand on her hip and his thumb trapped hard between his crotch and hers. His own ejaculation came midway through, a surprise grunt as he was unable to hold it, but Jenny didn't even notice, panting as she finished herself riding him.

Until she hovered over him, sweat dripping onto his face. Her mouth, this time, was soft and warm, the kiss tender, and Mel closed his eyes instinctively.

"Dibs."

Mel's eyes opened, and he turned his head to the side. In the doorway were Béibhinn, dressed in boyshorts and a sports bra, and Rachel, who had on her hoodie and jeans, sipping a coffee.

"On the condom," Béibhinn clarified.

Jenny didn't object. She kissed Mel again, and then sort of collapsed sideways. Jordan was there, standing beside the bed, and began running her hands down the other brain slug host's body, massaging arms and legs. Mel rolled off the opposite side and pulled off the condom. Rache smirked as she stared at the naked, sweaty Mel stood up and handed Béibhinn her breakfast.

"So... walk?" he said with an awkward smile.

On the street, there was more evidence of spring. Or maybe it was just Mel being more aware of the birds nesting in odd places, small green shoots rising up from odd dirt-filled cracks in sidewalks, trees beginning to flower.

"Have fun with Jordan and Jenny last night?" he asked, rubbing his thumb over Rache's knuckles, their fingers entwined. "I was already asleep by the time Jordan and Jenny came back over."

"It was... different," Rache said, and though he couldn't tell exactly in the dim morning light, he thought her cheeks burned. "I told you I've been tying my ankle to the bed before I go to sleep. Last night, I was feeling frisky. Experimental. So I outlined this idea I had, a fantasy. They tied my arms and legs to the bedposts and then played with me."

Mel blinked. "But if they tied you down like that, you can't move."

"That's the idea," Rache said. "It's a way of surrendering control. Or maybe just not being able to retreat or run away. Jordan actually took out my razor and shaved my armpits! Jenny was more focused on my pussy. I know you've been learning a few things from those videos, but they've been watching, too. Her tongue was eager. Not quite the same as yours. She was really teasing me, going very fast, and then just when I was about to cum, she'd pull away, tease my nipples, lick my armpits. Jordie was rubbing herself all over me. I never in my life thought I'd see my own sister hump my tits, try to stuff one of my stiff nipples in her cunny. It was fun. Exciting. By the time they finally let me cum, I was gagging for it."

"Wow," Mel thought, imagining the scene. He wondered how 'stasia got any sleep last night, which made him think about how he hadn't seen her in a day or two. She would probably like to hear about the dreamsinging and the Rhizomat; that whole scene with the body they had budded off for a brain slug seemed right up her alley.

"And what about you?" Rache said. "What about your little date night with Béibhinn? You sure seemed randy enough with Jenny this morning?"

"It wasn't a date," Mel said. "And the thing with Jenny was something else. She's been having bad dreams or something. Really night terrors stuff."

He saw Rachel frown as leaf-shadows dappled her face.

"Tell me."

So he told her about how Béibhinn had asked him to just, well, use her. The surprise when he asked to eat her out at the same time. How she responded, the weird spasm at the end, the shocking little revelation.

"I think," Mel said. "She was telling the truth earlier, when she said she likes girls. I mean, she had a dental dam on hand, so she had to be ready for safe sex. A lot of her experience with guys must be through a gloryhole, just for dietary purposes. I think it surprised her that I wanted something more than just stuff myself inside of her."

"Well, that's sweet," Rache said as they came to the darkest part of the woods. "But what about Jenny?"

Mel told her about his dream, again. How it had shifted over time, from the toilets at the orphanage to what must have been a spaceship. His own reflection and hands so alien. Then waking up and finding Jenny like that again, not sure how to handle the situation, letting Jordan guide them. Rache, who had only seen the end of it, remained very quiet, not even asking any questions.

"Dreams," she said, and reached up to scratch her neck, but pulled her hand away at the last moment. "Your dreams, my sleepwalking, Jenny's night terrors that require a good hard dicking to calm down. That can't all be coincidence, can it?"

"I don't know," Mel confessed. "Maybe it is? I mean, I've had weird dreams since I moved in with Jordan. You used to sleepwalk. Neither of us knows what Jenny was like before, but I know Antonio's attack was traumatic, and who knows how much trauma the hive mind has passed down through its shared memories. Maybe this is just... us sorting stuff out. Processing things in our sleep."

"Maybe," Rachel said, as they emerged onto the sidewalk. She didn't sound convinced. Neither, if he was honest, was Mel.

"I don't know what to do about it," he admitted. "Except maybe ask Jordan and Jenny. If it's a brain slug thing, they're the experts."

Rachel nodded and gave his hand a squeeze. They walked in silence, lost in their own thoughts for a space.

"Do you think you might like to tie me down, sometime?" Rache asked, as he held open the door to the apartment building for her.

"I can try," he said. "Although we'll need to talk about specifics. That's all new to me."

She smiled. "It's new to me, too. That's the fun of it. Experimenting. Exploring. Together."

"Well, I'm game if you are," he said.

They kissed in the hallway and broke apart.

He needed to stretch. Shower. Dress. Get to work.

The sun broke over Seacouver. Mel Arkwright welcomed the light, chasing away the darkness, and wondered what the day would bring.

CHAPTER 113

What does the future hold? The Exodus is ongoing and will be for generations. More ships are on their way. They have nowhere else to go.

--Anaïs Nineveh, The Exodus: A History, Chapter 8

Mel felt the knot in his stomach when he caught sight of the Ford Protoss parked outside the Cosmic Fill-Up. He hadn't made a point of memorizing the license plate number, but it was clearly a Quebec plate. As he filed into the shop with Jordan and Jenny, he heard familiar voices from Ha-Yoon's office. As he signed in, Mel tiptoed up to Ha-Yoon's office.

To see Molly hunched over her desk, eyes locked on the screen of his manager's smartphone.

She wore her leather jacket today, but underneath were jeans and a T-shirt featuring a lion face on a fleur-de-lis. Mel gave her a nervous smile as she looked up from the screen, just for a moment, and then went back to what she was looking at. Thankfully, there was no audio, but...

"Morning," Mel said. "Molly. Boss. What are you watching?"

"Well, we set up a camera to watch those bluebirds with a nest out front," Ha-Yoon said innocently. "So when she stopped in, I was going to show her that, but my finger slipped and hit a bookmark for another video that was shot here."

Mel's face hurt, the smile drawn too tight. It didn't reach his eyes. Ha-Yoon saw it and smiled.

"Anyway! Congratulations. You're now no longer officially a red shirt," she said. Reaching into a drawer from under her desk, she brought up a couple of blue shirts in their plastic wrapping and handed them to Mel. Molly chewed on her lip. The video must have finished because she set the smartphone down. The screen ended on an image of Mel's prick, the loaded condom dangling off the tip.

"This promotion comes with a one-step increase in pay, which will be featured in next week's automatic deposit, not this one, and you'll need to complete some additional training over the next eighteen weeks," Ha-Yoon said. "Aaaand, you get an official Cosmic Fill-Up backpack! You can put your shirts in there and keep it under the counter, but make sure to wear your new uniform tomorrow."

Mel nodded. Molly stared at him, those big brown eyes wide. Ha-Yoon simply looked smug, and added: "Anyway, your first task today is grounds-cleaning. Get a bag and the grabber from the closet. Should give you two time to talk it out."

Molly followed Mel back outside. The sun was rising. Cars, trucks, and bicycles moved on the streets outside. He had a trash bag in one hand and a grabber in the other, to pick up cigarette butts, coffee cup lids, vape canisters, and all the other detritus of a living city.

"So, how have you been?" Mel asked. "Did you stop by just to talk, or--"

"Why did you let an alien bug woman suck your thing!?" Molly blurted out.

"Well, she asked politely. My girlfriend approved of it. And my boss was weirdly excited about the whole thing. I guess it was easier to go through with it than it would have been to say no," Mel admitted.

"You got peer-pressured into... into... fellatio?" Molly said, slightly aghast.

The knot in Mel's stomach twisted a little. He could hear the disbelief and weird fascination in her voice. The only thing that helped was that Molly didn't sound hurt.

"I didn't really think of it in those terms at the time," Mel said. "It was more like... when I moved into that apartment, I had no sexual experience. Being with Jordan, and then Jenny and Rachel and the rest, has pushed my understanding of what sex is, introduced me to new experiences. Not everything I'd want to do twice, but expanding my horizons a bit. At the time, it felt like I was doing what everyone wanted me to do. It made them happy, and it felt pretty good."

"Would you do it again?" Molly asked.

"If my girlfriends asked me to? Probably," Mel admitted. "I mean, it's not like things aren't mutual. They're very... accommodating."

They had rounded the corner, and Molly caught sight of the mural. Her eyes widened.

"Wow. I had no idea this was here," she said.

"It was just made the other day; a Rhizomat came by," Mel said, and held up the grabber to use as a pointer. "You can see Jordan, Jenny, and Rachel--"

His voice died out as he realized that the artistically rendered figures of his girlfriends were very naked.

"Why are those sluts in an alien mural on a fill-up station?" Molly said, her brow furrowed.

Which required Mel to explain a little about meeting Detective MacElroy, the interviews she had set up with other extraterrestrials, and the dreamsinging with the Rhizomat. The young Black woman stared at him as he talked and picked up trash, with mingled fascination and disbelief. As they rounded the corner, she seemed to be struggling with her calm.

"... and it was MacElroy that introduced us to our new roommate, Béibhinn. I don't think you've met her yet, but she's a ghola. Jordan and Jenny had pretty much moved into my room, so..."

"Are you sexing her too!?" Molly's voice rose in pitch and volume. Mel winced instinctively.

"Uh. I wasn't, but the girlfriends discussed it and decided it was best to organize things by setting up a list of approved friends-with-benefits. So we engaged in oral sex the other night. Gholas are related to brain slugs, and they need semen, too."

Molly's shoulders fell. Her mouth was a tight line. Mel couldn't tell if she was about to yell at him or cry. Yet her next question surprised him.

"You said 'and the rest,'" Molly said. "Who else have you had sex with?"

"I've helped out a few brain slugs, and you've seen the video with Two-Clicks. Béibhinn. I felt the breasts of a Greyan named Ganymede, and Aloa, an Electrovore, did a thing where she drank some of my neural electricity and triggered the pleasure center in my brain," Mel said, counting down various things. "And, um, Amelia gave me a titjob."

Mel couldn't tell how embarrassed he was supposed to be about all this. He hadn't had a sister for long, and while he sensed this wasn't stuff you were supposed to talk about with a sibling, he had promised to be honest with her about sex stuff.

Molly's eyes narrowed.

"Who is Amelia?" she asked.

"She's a regular customer at the Cosmic Fill-Up," he said. "I met her when she was pregnant; we got to chatting. Then one day she went into labor, and there was a traffic jam. So I had to help her give birth. It turns out she's an orphan like me. She kept coming by after giving birth, and she joked about giving me a bowjob, but I didn't think she was serious. Amelia's been really lonely and needed more material for her stream, so she asked Jordan, and Jordan thought I should help her out, so we went over for dinner the other night, and I did."

Molly chewed her cheeks, and for a moment Mel was struck with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. It reminded him of his own habit to do that.

"I don't know if Jordan is your girlfriend or your pimp," Molly said. "Because it really sounds like they're exploiting you. Why do you keep going with whatever these women tell you to do? Don't you want to do anything for yourself?"

Mel rested the grabber on his shoulder.

"Molly--yes, I could have said no. Maybe there are a lot of times when I should have said no. But I need you to think about my situation," he said. "I've got less than a thousand in the bank. I don't have parents paying my way through university. I have to live with these people and--as weird as it may be to say this--I care for them, and I think they care for me. If they're exploiting me, I don't mind so much because I feel like I'm giving people what they need. Brain slugs that need cum to thrive and heal, a K'lur'k who wanted nothing more than to live out a human porn scenario, and a lonely young single mother who needs adult friends. I've never gotten a blowjob from anybody who hasn't wanted it. Never touched someone who didn't completely consent to it. While this might sound weird, so far it's been working for me and--I'm happy being used if it helps other people."

The hug was sudden, fierce, and unexpected. Molly pressed her cheek into his chest, her breasts crushed against Mel's stomach, and without knowing what else to do, he wrapped the arm with the grabber around her and hugged her back.

"I'm not trying to judge your life. I know you're trying to help other people, I just... I don't know how to help you," she said, and the voice was almost a sob.

"You've already helped me," he said. "I'd given up hope of ever having a family. Even if the test results show we're not--"

Molly sniffed.

"I got the results back from the cheek swab," she said. "Confirmed the results. We share one parent. You are my little brother."

Mel's heart throbbed. For a moment, he clutched her harder, and his vision grew blurry.

"Wow," he said, voice weirdly choked.

She sniffed again. Molly lifted up her shirt, exposing a soft brown belly as she wiped at her eyes. Mel's sister looked up at him and smiled.

"I kind of get why you were reluctant to talk about your sex life with me before," she said. Then she crinkled her nose. "I can't believe I've seen my brother's dick. But thanks for being honest with me."

"Always," Mel said. "We still set for dinner with your mom tomorrow night?"

Molly nodded.

"I'll pick you up here. I have to warn you, I might be a little emotional. There are some things I have to ask her." She paused. "And I'm not saying to lie to her, but maybe don't lead with the fact that you're in a polycule with a list of approved sex friends. I'm not sure how ma mère would respond to that."

"Of course," Mel said.

Jordan and Jenny were behind the counter as Mel walked back in, leaving Molly at her car. Tomie was working the swifter. Ha-Yoon sent him to inventory the beer in the cooler, and he was glad to see the sobriety chip still in her hand as she directed him to get the key from under the front counter. She was still smirking, as if her plan to get Mel into Molly's pants was proceeding smoothly, and he did not want to talk about that.

They were seated at lunch when Amelia came in, Li'l Mel still in his sash-carrier. She wore tight jeans that came up to just under her stomach, which was poking out a little beneath the hoodie, but Mel did his best not to notice. Jordan and Jenny immediately made room at the table so that Amelia could sit down. The young woman hesitated only a moment before she did.

Mel remembered how wary she had been of the brain slugs only a few short weeks ago, not wanting to even deal with them as cashiers. Now here she was sitting at a table with two of them. He smiled at that, and Jordan elbowed Mel softly in the ribs and nodded at Amelia. Mel sign-spelled out F-O-B, and the brain slug host nodded.

"Hey," Amelia said. "What's all that?"

"Sorry," Mel said. "I think Jordan wants me to tell you--the girls and I had a discussion and came to a decision. You know how the four of us are together, right?"

Amelia nodded. There was a yawn, and immediately the zipper came down and a brown nipple plugged a small, hungry mouth. Mel carefully kept his eyes on her face.

"Right. I asked for permission for the recording," the young mother said.

"And you know I've done--stuff with some other brain slug hosts, right? Oral sex. Because they need semen. Part of their biology. We agreed that we should have a list of pre-approved sex partners outside of the relationship. Always with safe sex, but people that we can interact with that we trust," Mel said. "And we'd like you to be one of them. Jordan, Jenny, and Rachel all agreed."

The young mother's jaw didn't quite drop, yet her eyes widened. Her mouth did a thing where the corners lifted and fell, as if she wasn't sure whether she was happy or upset. Eventually, she leaned over the table, careful not to crush the baby.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to--call you up when I need a stunt dick for a video, or if my mouth is lonely and I need a blowjob?" Amelia whispered.

Mel blinked. "Uh. I think it also counts if you want any of us to eat you out or something? If you want."

Amelia nodded slowly. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to help with childcare?"

Mel blinked again; he glanced at his girlfriends. Jordan and Jenny each held up a hand in a thumb's up.

"I mean, I've never babysat before, but if I'm not working or going to class, I could help out. Friends do that, right?"

"Yes. Absolutely. That is completely correct," Amelia said with a cat-like smile as she leaned back. "I would absolutely trade a blowjob for babysitting. Or let one of your girlfriends sit on my face. I am on board with this. I am excited. Panties are wet."

He could not tell at the moment if Amelia was serious, but her smile was positively giddy.

"By the way, I'm almost done editing the video. Goes up tonight," Amelia said. "I'm still trying to think up a porn name for you."

"Porn name?" Mel repeated.

"Porn isn't just about the sex on screen," Amelia said. "It's about the people having sex on screen. It's characters, narrative. That's what turns anonymous titfucking into erotic art. Storytelling."

"Okay," Mel said, not sure what else to say to that.

CHAPTER 114

Next Month: An Exclusive Interview With The Man Sucked Off By A K'lur'k!

--Slug Fucker Monthly April 2055

NO APRIL FOOLS ON THE BUS

The piece of paper had been taped into place just below the charge plate. Mel waved his hand, credit chit debiting, and did his best not to look like a prankster. April Fools' wasn't a holiday he really understood. Holidays at the orphanage and at school were severely limited affairs. Sometimes they bussed the kids out to watch fireworks, or Xmas lights, but most of the time it was a reminder of everything other kids had that they didn't. No costumes, no tricks-or-treats. Kids after the winter holidays showing off their new bikes and video games.

Pulling tricks on people on April 1st just felt fucking mean.

Rache was at the bus stop, reading a paperback that featured a bare-chested female torso with a pair of hairy paws covering the breasts. She looked up and smiled when Mel touched her shoulder, then stood up for a kiss.

"So, how's the book?" he asked.

"Profoundly weird," the blonde said. "The professor didn't want us to go in unprepared, so we had to read excerpts from Engel's earlier novels, the First Nations legend of the Bear Princess, and then the thirty-one-page draft she did for the Writers' Union of Canada. She says we need to appreciate its literary context. But nothing really prepares you for her developing this intimate relationship with a creature that is profoundly alien and unable to understand her. And the bear penis."

Mel nodded. That made sense.

Angelika and Angus were already in the classroom. As Mel and Rachel were about to take their seats, Angelika held up a hand.

"If you two wouldn't mind, we need volunteers for this class. You two are together, aren't you?" the older woman asked, signing as she spoke.

"Yes," Mel said, remembering to sign the answer.

"Then could you sit up front and help out?" she asked. "Help demonstrate."

"Sure," Rachel answered for both of them.

As Angus set up for the next lesson, Angelika spent a few moments with the two of them, demonstrating new signs and explaining what would be required of them. Mel felt blood rush to his face, but nodded in agreement, doing his best to remember the signs as she walked them through them.

In ones and twos, the rest of the students filtered in. As the campus clock chimed the hour, Angelika smiled and stood up, raising her voice so everyone could hear, moving to the middle of the floor so everyone could see her.

"Much of the vocabulary you will need is covered in your textbooks," she said and signed. "But that doesn't always cover some of the more important, intimate encounters. People who sign are still sexual beings, after all. So today, we're going to cover the essential signs regarding sex and relationships, and discuss the practicalities of flirting and communication during intimate moments..."

The first half of the class was all vocabulary. Signs for penis, vagina, mouth, anus, fingers. Then more complicated signs for kissing, touching, sex, anal sex. Discussion of how to handle slang, the need to spell out certain terms that there weren't standard signs for. It did not surprise Mel that there wasn't a particular sign for "felching" or "tribbing."

"Now, for the more practical discussion, we have a pair of volunteers," Angelika said.

Mel and Rachel stood up and moved to the center space, so that the whole class could see them, and it quickly became evident why volunteers were needed. Angus was working the screens, showcasing visual representations of the sign language; Angelika was addressing the class. They were there to demonstrate.

"One disadvantage sign language has is that it requires space. If you're crushed in at a club, or dancing close together, communication can be difficult... here, Mel, please sign to Rachel that you'd like to make love to her."

They had been placed within twelve inches of each other, which gave Mel very little space to move. He had to concentrate not to brush against Rachel's breasts as he made the necessary signs.

"You see? And she could barely see some of those signs. This is more of a problem in the bedroom. Imagine being intimate and trying to communicate with your partner. Mel, take a seat; Rachel, please sit in his lap, facing him."

They had provided a chair for this purpose, and Rachel couldn't suppress a smile and a blush as she settled, fully clothed, on Mel's thighs. Only she could feel the sudden hardness that pressed against her, and Mel had to fight the urge to grab her hips and press Rache to him.

"In situations like this, it is best to discuss plans for lovemaking ahead of time, or at least to choose positions that allow a maximum of face time and freedom of movement," Angelika said and signed. "If your partner knows sign language, most spelling-signs can be pressed into a palm."

Rachel demonstrated, pressing her left hand into Mel's right, staring him in the eyes as she spelled out: T-O-N-I-G-H-T.

"The greatest challenge will be with people you don't know," Angelika said. "So please don't expect to leave this classroom and immediately be able to pick up deaf men or women for one-night hookups. Yet if you or your partner relies of sign language, it is critical to communicate consent and preference. Incorporate communication considerations into your play. With experience, sign language can be part of your love language, with shorthand signs enabling more spontaneity during sex."

The clothes stayed on, but they demonstrated a few more positions. At one point, Mel was on the floor, Rachel sitting on his face. He could smell her through her jeans. They were holding hands and trying to spell-sign to each other.

"You see, if Mel here is performing oral sex in this position, he can't see Rachel signing, but they could arrange a system of signals that he can feel even when eye contact is lost."

By the end of the class, Mel and Rachel were both red-faced and smiling; the rest of the class was grinning as well, and more than once some laughter had rippled out across the room. Dawn walked with them to the bus stop.

"You two are too cute together," the older Black woman said. "Are you going to practice tonight?"

Rachel slipped her hand into the back pocket of Mel's jeans.

"You know, I think we might," she said with a grin.

Their mood was light, Rache leaning against Mel as she read her book, Mel keeping an eye on the stops so they didn't miss theirs. Mel's stomach rumbled, and he was looking forward to a bowl of ramen and sausage, and maybe they'd finish the intermediate oral sex video and practice a little.

The whiff of pizza as the door to 501 opened told him that things were not going to go according to his hopes and dreams. Rachel's smile died as she stepped into the apartment and saw Jordan, Jenny, Béibhinn, Anastasia, and Detective MacElroy.

The brain bat had taken off her coat and laid it across the back of the couch, and rolled up the sleeves of her shirt as she carefully devoured a hot wing. Mel took note of her shoulder holster, visible now over her vest, the butt of her gun clearly visible under her left arm. 'stasia waved her fork, digging into a boxed salad, all black jeans and a black jean jacket. Jordan and Jenny were naked. Béibhinn was in a pair of black hotpants that emphasized her thighs and a t-shirt cut down so that it showed her midriff and hung loose off her shoulders.

"Mr. Arkwright," the detective said. "Miss Carmichael. You must be hungry. Please, have some pizza. We'll talk after."

Mel had never been so disappointed to grab a slice of cheese pizza with extra cheese. They ate in silence, the weight of expectations on them all. He cracked a Quench and watched the Detective carefully scrape the gristle and crunchy bits off the ends of the bone, leaving it nearly clean. When they were all done, and the wet wipes were distributed, she finally came to the real reason for her visit.

"I did not send the Rhizomat," the brain bat said. She watched Mel's head shrink down between his shoulders, like a bad puppy waiting for the newspaper. "They aren't a part of our little coalition. We have channels of communication, but their idea of collective action is different than ours. I want to emphasize you didn't necessarily do anything wrong; you had no way to know. That was my fault for not being clearer about who would be visiting you and when. However, this has brought up another issue. Tell me about this dream you've been having."

He blinked and stood up a little straighter. A prisoner granted a reprieve from a well-earned ass-chewing. All eyes were on Mel. It made his neck itch, the whole room full of women hanging on his every word.

"Well, it started out as this memory about my last winter at the orphanage, when I was alone..." and Mel told them about the glimpse of that fleeing figure, the old bathroom with the cracked mirror and dripping sink, the gloryhole to empty space that shouldn't have been there. Then he told them about how it changed, and it surprised him how much detail he remembered, how clear it all was. Most dreams faded in the minutes after awakening, but he'd had this one so often that it was almost like recalling a memory. "... and then I saw my hand change. Sort of re-weave itself."

As he spoke, Jordan and Jenny had moved to hold hands. Hesitantly, Jenny had held out a hand to Béibhinn, who held it out to MacElroy. By the time he finished, all four of them were chained together. Anastasia didn't miss this development, her dark eyes alight with interest.

"Dreaming is rare among sentient species," Anastasia said at last. "What the Rhizomat call dreamsinging, is that like the forms of communication brain slugs and related species use? Humans can be receptive to brain slug communication on a mostly subconscious level, but can the Rhizomat do it consciously?"

"Yes, we believe so," MacElroy said. "Although as with most of life, the mechanism is more complicated. Think of it like tuning your radio or analog television set to an alien broadcast; different species generally don't share the right formatting to process the information. Yet even then, there are sometimes clear images, snatches of song, that sort of thing. The Rhizomat are particularly good at tuning themselves to interface with other neural systems. Even computer networks. It's part of what makes them so dangerous."

"And the figure in the dreamsinging," 'stasia pressed. "The one Mel saw as himself in the dream?"

MacElroy's jaw worked. "Such beings exist. I suspect that the memory Mel saw was triggered because the Rhizomat recognized something in Mel's mind."

"What is it?" Mel asked.

With her free hand, the detective scratched her chin.

"You have to understand the Exodus didn't just happen. We had received signals from Earth years before. The planet had been identified, its broad characteristics determined by astronomers. Oxygen-rich atmosphere, watery, in the Goldilocks zone, the approximate gravity and electromagnetic field strength--there were all essential considerations. Species that couldn't survive here didn't come this way. They took their chances fleeing in other directions, aiming for other worlds. Or they died," the brain bat said. "So we knew what humans looked like, had an idea of your general body plan. Built databases of your anatomy. Symbiont species like ours weren't just rolling the dice; we wanted to be as sure as possible we could bond with humans. And our different hive minds and polities planned for our first encounter very carefully."

"So one of the hive minds went to the Rhizomat and bought a... what do you call it?" Rachel asked.

Béibhinn shrugged, an eloquent gesture given she was holding both Jenny and MacElroy's hands.

"There hasn't been a need for a word for it in any Earth language. They are exceedingly rare, and only made for specific purposes. They combine many of the advantages of brain slugs and Rhizomat. Normally you don't think about breathing, or your heart beating, or your stomach digesting food; it just happens. Yet a changeling has complete consciousness and control of their body at an almost cellular level. They are extremely biologically hardy and adaptable, able to reshape themselves to adjust to nearly any environment, to mimic the body plan of any species of comparable mass. But they are also unpredictable; the distributed Rhizomat neural network and the brain slug's ability to integrate neural systems at a very low level make them lateral thinkers. Able to act independent of the hive mind. Perfect for long-term infiltration, assassination, scouting..."

"Changelings," Mel said.

"As good a name as any," MacElroy said. "We were unaware of any changelings among the Exodus. Yet based on your dreams, and what you saw from the Rhizomat's memory, it suggests there is one. And if you're dreaming of it, then it must be close. Probably somewhere in this apartment building."

Mel blinked.

"Is that bad?" he said.

Béibhinn and MacElroy were both working their jaws, a shared and weirdly synchronized gesture that sent a creep down Mel's spine.

"We don't know. They can be extremely dangerous, but it depends on their individual mission. If it wanted to kill you, it would probably have done so already. Yet it has to be relatively close if it's slipping into your dreams. That proximity might be worrisome, especially with the Rhizomat's interest in you. The Rhizomat see them as the living vessels of a contract. As long as the changeling exists, an obligation bonds the hive mind who requested it and the Rhizomat who provided it," MacElroy said. "If there is a changeling on Earth, you might be their best chance to find it."

Mel let that sink in. He had questions.

"Is that why Jenny's been having bad dreams?" he asked.

The brain bat shook her head.

"Post-traumatic stress. Antonio's assault nearly killed her. Forced a budding. That's... well, you can guess the human equivalent. Connecting with the hive mind can help distribute the trauma, but at night, when she's alone, the memories can be overwhelming. At some point, she might need to return to the Compound to commune with the Ancient and others. Lose herself in the hive mind. For now, they want to stay here with you."

Mel let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Rachel's hand found his, and he squeezed it.

"What did you do with the last sperm sample you took for testing?" he asked.

MacElroy and Béibhinn smirked.

"We fed your sample to a brain slug, and then extracted the processed cells. Normally, the efficiency of the process is about 50%; unhealthy, weak, and mutated sperm are weeded out, and some die during the transgenic binding. Yours was closer to 95%, near the theoretical maximum. A large part of that is just the overall healthiness of your sample, but it's still notable. You aren't superhuman, Mel Arkwright, but you do seem to be a very, very good match with brain slugs," she said.

"One in a million," Rache gave his hand a squeeze.

"We haven't calculated the exact percentile yet," Béibhinn said. "But probably considerably more than that."

Mel knew things were done when the hand clasps broke and MacElroy reclaimed her coat.

"Anyway. Good talking to you. I wanted to give you notice that an Etherling is going to drop by tomorrow. You can speak freely with them. Other than that, listen to Béibhinn. Keep your eyes and ears open," she said. "You have my number if you need to contact me."

"What if I see the changeling?" Mel asked.

MacElroy paused at the door. She looked back at Mel, shades hiding her eyes. The brain bat tentacles on her neck flashed crimson for a moment, then faded back to her normal skin color.

"You can try to run," she said. "But it will probably be too late."

CHAPTER 115

As the Greyan saying goes: "You can trust a brain slug, but protect your neck."

--Anaïs Nineveh, The Exodus: A History, Chapter 8

"Okay," 'stasia said. "Well, I need to go write some of that down before I forget. Mel, you don't mind if I ask you some questions later? I want all the details on your experience."

"Sure," Mel said. "Anytime."

"Right on," the dark-dressed young woman said. She looked at Rachel. "Ready?"

"You head on over," Rache said, moving next to Mel and sliding her hand into his back pocket. "I'm going to relax here a bit."

A look crossed Anastasia's face just then, clearly visible to Mel and Rache. Not quite a hunger, but a yearning, or maybe a flash of jealousy. A hint of color rose on 'stasia's face, and her lips tightened. She nodded, curtly.

"I won't wait up," 'stasia said, and she pointedly didn't look left or right as she rose from where she sat on the arm of the couch and went straight toward, and then through the door, closing it with a quiet and determined click behind her.

Rache sighed and sagged against Mel a little as soon as 'stasia was gone. The blonde looked at the naked brain slug hosts and Béibhinn, who was consolidating what was left of the pizza into a single box. She pointedly didn't look at Mel, but he saw the pensive set of her blue eyes, the way she bit her lip. Her hand was warm in his back pocket, but it felt like she was leaning on him for support.

"What's wrong?" Mel asked.

"Noth--" Rache began, but Jordan held up her right hand, palm extended outward. The ASL for "Stop."

"Something's eating at you," Mel said. "I can tell, and Jordan knows you. What is it? Are you upset about the changeling? Do you think it's influencing your sleepwalking?"

"I don't know about that," Rache admitted. "But no, what's got me is--well, the look 'stasia gave us just now. I don't know if you've noticed, but it's not the only time she's looked at us like that."

Mel hadn't noticed, exactly. Yet he knew that 'stasia had seen them in the act more than once. He felt obscurely embarrassed as he remembered the time during the ceremony, when he and Cara had been at the center of attention. There had been no way for him to see 'stasia's reaction to that, but Rache would have seen it.

"She's your roommate, right? I know she's doing research into brain slugs. Do you think that she's concerned about you hanging out with a bunch of aliens? Like one day she's going to wake up and find her roommate is possessed by a brain slug?" Béibhinn asked.

"Anastasia is the sister of Antonio, who attacked Jenny," Mel explained. "And she's been here almost as long as Rachel has. She's seen... a lot of us. Even went with us to the integration ceremony with Cara."

"So, she's seen you fuck," Béibhinn summarized.

"More than that," Rache said. "She's seen me with Jordie and Jenny, heard us through the walls, seen me sleepwalk naked and try to mount Mel, and that whole scene with the improvised gloryhole..."

"Wait, what?" Béibhinn's eyes went wide, showing the yellowish whites.

"Show you later," Rache said, with a sweeping gesture of her hand. "The point is, I've been aware of her more often lately. Wearing less around the apartment. Leaving her door open. I've been tying my leg to the bedpost lately to keep from walking over here in the nude, and when I wake up she's sort of... hovering over me, giving me this look."

"So she's a threat," Béibhinn analyzed aloud. "Going to try something."

The ghola smashed fist into palm for emphasis.

"No!" Rache said. "I think she's... horny. And maybe jealous. She hasn't had a date in more than a year, and she has to hang around with us who have sex what seems like every other day, and she's seen a lot of it, and I think... I think she feels left out. Maybe she shouldn't be."

"Rache," Mel said. "Are you saying you'd like her to be on the sex friend list?"

The tall blonde's jaw worked. Then she gave a little nod.

Béibhinn studied Rache's face.

"So, is this about you wanting to see Mel slip her some dick, or because you want to play with your roommate's pussy?" the ghola asked, then held her hands in front of her chest. "Or is it a boob thing? I know I'm currently in a mammal body, but I still don't have the instinct for these big potential food sources."

That made Mel grin and Rache snort.

"Kinda both?" Rache said. "I mean, I know we first made the sex friend list to simplify things, because the other brain slugs need occasional doses of vitamin Mel, and Amelia is his friend--she texted me the link to that video, by the way--but 'stasia's our friend too, and if she's willing to abide by the whole sexual safety requirements, I think--I think we should at least offer."

Mel scratched his nose. He looked at Jordan and Jenny. The two naked brain slug hosts were holding hands, and the small black heads of their slugs were poking out from behind their necks. Their expressions gave away nothing, but their eyes were both focused on Rachel--and then on Mel.

He felt that the decision was on him. Jordan and Jenny would vote as a bloc, and Rache had suggested it, so Mel was really the third. The one who could tip the balance.

"Obviously, health and safety has priority," he said. "Even if 'stasia hasn't been sexually active, we'll want to use protection, and maybe ask her to get an STD test before doing any kissing. But if you're okay with it--I don't have any problem with adding her to the list. Is it okay with you?"

Mel still couldn't read their expressions, yet Jenny's left hand rose in a thumb's up.

Rache gave Mel's ass a squeeze.

"Okay. We'll still need to ask her, of course. Make sure she's cool with it. And do we actually have condoms or dental dams left?" Mel asked.

Jordan, Jenny, and Béibhinn all shook their heads.

Mel let out a breath. "Okay. So, no sexytimes tonight, at least not the touching variety. Still, that maybe takes some pressure off, gives her time to think, process it, decide if and how she wants to have fun, right?"

"Right," Rache said. She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Then she gave him a little look. "I know I said we would do some stuff tonight, but I kinda feel like it wouldn't be fair to drop this on her while reeking of sex. And I do need to go to sleep because I've got class tomorrow."

Mel smiled and kissed her on the mouth. She opened her lips and let their tongues touch. Not a hard, long, lascivious kiss, but soft, intimate, and Mel found himself up on his toes as Rache lifted his butt a little and clutched her to him. He went to full staff, rubbing against her stomach, the kind of aching intensity and spontaneity that he always seemed to feel around his girlfriends. Whether that was just from the memory of their prior encounters or some deeper part of himself reacting to them, Mel didn't know.

"It's okay, Rache," he said, when they broke apart. "We'll find time, maybe tomorrow after I get back from dinner with my sister and her mom."

Rachel slipped her hand out of Mel's pocket to go kiss Jordan and Jenny tonight--kisses that were, Mel noticed, just as intimate: Rache's hands on their hips, or sliding down over the lower back to grab handfuls of ass and squeezing gently.

Béibhinn, for her part, rearranged the magnetic letters on the fridge to spell BUY CONDOMS.

"Sorry," Mel said, immediately apologetic. He hadn't considered how displays of intimacy might affect their new roommate.

"It's fine. Just, you know, remember I have needs too," the ghola said. She blew him a kiss. "Maybe letting your balls rest tonight will mean tomorrow's feast is a little richer."

Mel gave a nervous smile at that. Yet he had to admit, as Rache gave a final wave, that he felt a bit of relief. Jordan and Jenny seemed to get the idea and pulled him toward the bedroom to peel off his clothes and snuggle against him on the bed, their breasts resting on his pectoral muscles.

He lay there in the dark for what felt like a long time, unable to get his mind to settle. A part of him wondered what 'stasia looked like naked, what she might get up to with Rache at night in their apartment across the way. The stubborn erection, which had never gone away, throbbed and pulsed inside his fundoshi as the breathing of Jordan and Jenny deepened. The light in Béibhinn's room went out, and the whole apartment became as dark and quiet as it ever was.

Mel's chest rose and fell, his breath coming slowly, deeply. Maybe Rache would show 'stasia that new video. They didn't have to touch each other. They could be sitting side by side, knee against knee, watching those brown, milky tits squeeze around his staff, Amelia's hot lips slurping on the top, playing things up for the camera.

There was the softest, almost inaudible skittering from the living room. A sound so soft, Mel wasn't sure he heard it or imagined it; whether it was his actual ears that reported the noise or some incoming dream.

Then it came again, and a dark shadow seemed to rise at the foot of the bed.

CHAPTER 116

Changelings are not standard brain slug hosts. They think and process information differently. There are many stories of individual hosts that, separated from the hive mind, evolve their own identity. Every hive and collective in existence emerged from such individuals. Yet changelings are sterile. By design, they cannot form their own hive. So if they drift far enough from their original hive, their original purpose--who can say what they want, or what they will do to get it?

--Anastasia Massimi, Slugnomicon: A Guide To Brain Slug Spirituality (unpublished draft)

Mel couldn't move. His arms and legs wouldn't respond to him. The room was darker than normal; the bioluminescence of Jordan and Jenny's brain slugs was nonexistent. He was aware they were awake. Heard their breathing. Felt the warm touch of their breasts against his chest. Yet they did not move.

Nothing in that apartment should be moving.

Yet there was the dark shadow at the foot of the bed.

It didn't seem to move, yet there was a sense of movement, as the sheet over the three people in the bed was slowly pulled towards the foot. As Mel's eyes adjusted to the darkness, the shadows frustratingly failed to resolve, yet there was an outline of a domed cap or head. Something that might have been the lower half of a woman's face. Mel could almost see the little pointed chin, level with his toes.

Then his toes disappeared.

A small black carpet seemed to cover them, and now, as Mel lay here, helpless, he saw the tide creep up his legs. Strands that were blacker than the darkness slid forward unhurriedly, down his feet. Mel could still feel his feet, and felt the tiny, hair-like strands move over them. It reminded him of one night in the orphanage, when he used to wake up, still trapped with sleep paralysis, to find a spider crawling across his face. He had barely been able to breathe, unable to move as the arachnid moved freely, the delicate legs moving over his skin. Mel had lain awake until it was gone, and then awoke, able to move again, as the room stirred to the morning bell.

For a moment, Mel wondered if that was what was happening now. An old memory, combined with MacElroy's lecture and recent experiences, coming together in a nightmare. Yet that would mean that Mel knew he was dreaming. Something he had never experienced before.

The darkness engulfed his knees and began to resolve, threads twining about themselves into tiny ropes that wove themselves into complex knots that took on the outline of fingers and hands, then arms. The half-face with the broad cap was closer now, and Mel could see that it was like one of those traditional Japanese straw hats with the wide brim that shaded the eyes. The hands clutched his knees and pulled, an upper body emerging into view.

There was the general shape of thin shoulders, of a narrow, deep chest; the small rounded suggestion of breasts. Yet it was a nebulous thing, never still, constantly moving, and Mel had the terrible certainty that there were gaps inside of there, like a mannikin woven from wicker, woman-shaped but most certainly lacking the details of flesh and blood.

The hands touched his fundoshi.

Mel didn't see the hands work to undo the twisted cloth. The underwear simply came undone, peeled off so that his pale hardness hovered in the air above his stomach. For a moment, Mel tried to mentally undo the erection. As if he could will the stubborn flesh into softness. Deny this dream or nightmare its erotic potential.

The dark woman moved forward. Mel couldn't feel the being's legs, though he heard the soft creak of the bedsprings as the new mass moved onto the bed, felt the slight shift of Jenny and Jordan leaning into him as the extra mass atop of him caused the springs to depress and his paralyzed body sank deeper into the mattress. There was a suggestion of hips, but Mel couldn't see what engulfed him, couldn't see anything below his navel. It was as though a piece of the night had been cut out, and a thousand tiny hairs wrapped themselves around him, strangling his balls and pressing into the tiny slit of his urethra.

A slow, steady pressure began. Crushing him so tightly that Mel felt his pulse fight against the constriction. The figure loomed over him, and Mel finally saw what was below that strange broad-brimmed cap. There were full, sensual lips that opened to reveal a toothless void of a mouth, from which emerged a long, dark black tongue that began to glow, like the pale bioluminescence of a brain slug. In that pale glow, just enough to add texture to the darkness, Mel saw there was no upper face. Just a wall of blank flesh that rose straight to the cap, whose underside was fluttering black gills.

The weight settled on Mel's hips. The figure towering above him did not rise or fall, yet he felt things move inside of it, stroking and tugging at him. Mel's prick, the only part of him that could move, jerked pathetically inside of the dark woman. Her hands were tucked down near his crotch, but in the darkness it looked disturbingly like a giant black mushroom astride his body, a terrible parody of his own erection mingled with the female form.

Mel strained, trying to hold off, fighting the strange simulation. There was no heat that radiated from this figure; the grip on his erection was more like a cool, oily hand than a warm, wet mouth or slit. The capped head tilted, as if it sensed his resistance, the effort to avoid giving this thing what it so clearly wanted.

The female features shifted.

It was subtle, and yet distinct. The slender form filled out and lengthened, the jawline and lips shifting until it appeared the silhouette of Rachel was seated on him. Mel couldn't repress a shudder that went through his body, and redoubled his effort to move his hand, a foot, anything, but it was like moving through concrete, the muscles absolutely refusing his call.

The form shifted again. A little shorter, slender, the breasts smaller. Jenny. Then the hips widened, the impression of thick, muscular thighs, breasts almost mosquito-bite afterthoughts as the figure shrank, jaw widening. Béibhinn. Mel couldn't look away, fascinated by the process. He couldn't see the details, but his eyes focused on the outline, saw the shift, the bulge and compression, as if a cloth doll was being unwoven and re-woven.

The tension down at the root of him was building. The constriction was moving now, pumping, drawing him up and up until his buttocks left the bed, hips instinctively twitching, and each tiny movement seemed to increase the pressure in his balls that fed the pressure at the base of his turgid prick. Mel's lungs were burning now, unable to take in a proper breath, sweat beading on his body. The thing atop him gave nothing in terms of heat, but his body recognized what was going on, and his heart pounded faster and faster.

The abdomen of the dark lady bulged out obscenely, and Mel's eyes widened as he recognized the outline of Amelia as she had been on the floor of the bathroom, her slit spreading as the baby prepared to make its journey out into the world. The gaping channel and the swollen figure like a fertility fetish made flesh had burned itself into his memory, and Mel's whole body shook as his self-control began to slip.

There was a sudden, quick succession of forms. Bigger breasts, a broader suggestion of a nose. Mel's balls tightened as he recognized that outline. Then thinner, the suggestion of old scars. Tomie. A flat chest, the face a mask with a round hole of a mouth. Cara. Skinny, ribs visible, limbs scrawny. Maxine, as he had first seen her. Then as his control reached its absolute limit, the tugging on his prick faster and harder, the dark lady's form assumed a painfully familiar outline. Taller, healthy curves, the lips half-open as if caught in mid-moan, an expression of want, need, ecstasy--

"Rache!" Mel's voice burst out as he erupted.

Everyone awoke at once.

Mel, dripping with sweat, saw the naked Rachel on top of him at the same time as her blue eyes shot open. Jenny and Jordan scrambled, grabbing out of the bed, blinking rapidly. A moment later in the doorway, a naked Béibhinn appeared, her wooden baton in hand.

Rachel pulled herself off of Mel and stared down at where something thick and white dripped out of her.

"Oh fuck," she whispered, panic creeping into her voice. "Oh fuck oh fuck you came in me!"

"I--how did--" Mel stared at his prick, which had fallen out of Rachel's slit. Thick white globs dripped onto it. He wasn't wearing a condom. His underwear was unfolded beneath him. Mel looked around the room, but there was no sign of the dark woman. "I don't understand."

Jordan and Jenny, however, understood completely. The two brain slug hosts grabbed at Mel and Rachel, pulling them apart. Jordan slid into place between Rache's legs, her mouth engulfing her sister's cunny, sucking loudly. Jenny, meanwhile, had her mouth on Mel's softening prick, slurping up the spilt splooge.

"How did this happen?" Mel said. "The door--I didn't even hear the alarm--"

"I tied myself to the bedpost," Rache said. "I swear I did, I--"

"You did," Béibhinn said, the ghola stepping closer and pointing toward Rachel's ankle.

The young woman had been using a strap from her gym bag to tie herself to the bed. It had a Velcro catch at one end that could be secured around her ankle, solid enough to keep her from wandering off, loose enough not to impede circulation. The other end was a simple plastic D-ring. Except someone had cut the strap in two, as with a pair of very sharp scissors.

Béibhinn's head turned towards the door. She frowned.

"Same thing happened to your low-tech door alarm," she said. The ghola's jaw set, eyes running over the entire apartment in a glance, as if looking for any sign of intrusion, anything out of place. "Someone didn't just want this to happen; they made this happen."

Rache stared down at Jordan, whose tongue had gone from scraping to exploring, cheeks no longer hollowing out to suck out Mel's cum. Jenny, too, had gone from sperm-recovery to slow suction on the tip of Mel's prick, a little color to her cheeks. Mel groaned a little, his heart hammering too fast, panic mingling with the sudden realization that for the brain slug hosts, this wasn't over.

Jordan and Rachel shifted on the bed so that Mel and Rache were beside each other, their girlfriends' mouths working on pussy and cock at the same time. Béibhinn stared hungrily for a moment, then turned and left them. Mel could hear her voice from her bedroom, obviously making a call.

"I'm sorry," Mel whispered to Rachel as he felt his swollen shaft reach its full hardness again. "I didn't mean to."

"I don't think it's your fault," Rache said. "You've always been good about protection. But the timing of this is... my next period should be here in three weeks, a little less."

Should be. Mel frowned. There was no guarantee, of course. Jordan had sucked a lot of his sperm out of her sister, and some of it had dripped out, but... it only took one. His head pounded, as it sometimes did when he didn't get enough sleep or water. They would need to go to a pharmacy, see how much a morning-after pill cost. If he could afford it, if Rache would take it...

"I had a dream last night," he said, as Rachel moaned beside him. She had her eyes closed, biting her lips, Jordan's hands pulling her sister's labia wide so that her tongue could scoop deep inside of Rache's pussy. Yet her hand found Mel's, palm to palm, fingers threaded. Her blue eyes opened, and she stared at him, nodding at Mel to continue.

"I mean, I think it was a dream. It seemed so real. I was lying awake, between Jordan and Jenny, and I couldn't move..."

He recounted the dream. Little details came back to him. It had been so vivid. As he spoke, Béibhinn stood at the doorway, a phone to her ear. Those strange rusted-jade eyes watched him as he told the story that ended with Rachel on top of him, ropes of virile jizz erupting deep inside her unprotected pussy as she slammed down onto him.

"Damn it," Mel swore in sudden frustration. "How the fuck did this happen? Why?"

"That's what I want to talk to the two of you about," a new voice broke in.

Mel and Rachel stared at the doorway. Behind Béibhinn, Anastasia came into view, looking tired, her long coat thrown over black pajamas with white stars and moons emblazoned on them. She had an armful of Rachel's clothes, including a pair of shoes, in her arms.

"When you four are done here, of course," she said, a wry smile on her face.

As if on cue, Mel felt a familiar ache at the root of him. He stared into Jenny's eyes, the pupils dilated, the placid features a little red. She had only gotten a taste earlier, of course. Now she wanted more. Mel nodded and let his hips buck a little as Jenny held the tip of him in her mouth, not trying to hold back at all as he slowly humped her face, Rachel's soft moaning growing in intensity and her fingers tightening as she neared her own climax.

It wasn't simultaneous, yet as Mel grunted with relief and, for the second time that morning, that explosive relief washed over him, he swore he could almost hear a soft skittering from underneath the bed.

CHAPTER 117

Other species think of them as biological robots, but they are much, much more than that. To the Rhizomat, each changeling is made for a specific purpose; a collaborative project designed for a given end. It embodies a single, specific function, and all of the obligations of both the Rhizomat and the brain slug hive towards that function. It is, in effect, a living contract and a treaty embodied as an individual, capable of enforcing the terms of that agreement.

--Anastasia Massimi, Slugnomicon: A Guide To Brain Slug Spirituality (unpublished draft)

"I'm sorry," Mel said to Rachel as they hit the sidewalk, in hoodies and jeans, Anastasia in her long coat and jeans behind them. They were headed not for the park, but to an all-night pharmacy that 'stasia knew on Eighth Street.

"What are you apologizing for?" Rache asked, her hand in his.

"I didn't--I couldn't hold it," he said. "And now you have to take a pill, and I know it's not going to be comfortable and--I feel responsible."

'stasia snorted. "Is he always like this?"

"Always," Rache said, a wistful smile on her lips. "He's too good to be true. Mel, you were asleep in your own bed. It's not your fault I climbed onto your dick. I just wish I'd been awake. Now I have to go take a morning-after pill, and I didn't even get to feel you breed me."

"Breed you!?" 'stasia said, one eyebrow raised.

"So I have a kink. Sue me," Rache said. "And I haven't even really gotten to indulge it yet. Not really. We're always careful to use condoms, but I was hoping maybe we could do some dirty talk, maybe a roleplay scenario..."

"Hmm," 'stasia said. "Mel, tell me about the dream again."

He did, glad they were out early enough that there weren't many people on the sidewalks. Once or twice he saw a brain slug host, the little dark bodies half-hidden on their necks. It was too warm out now for scarves or high collars that might help hide them. Their eyes looked not at Mel, but at Rachel as they passed. Yet none stopped to sign hello.

'stasia interrupted, asking questions. Details about the room, about what Jenny and Jordan were doing. She seemed focused on Mel's perception of how much time had passed, the transitions between sleep and waking, or lack thereof. Mel tried to answer, though he wasn't sure what she was getting at.

"... and then I woke up, and it was already too late," he finished, as they approached the bright lights of the pharmacy. It wasn't a chain he recognized, but a smaller store, the older woman behind the counter in a white coat and with grey streaks through her dark hair, which was caught up in a bun with chopsticks. 'stasia stepped forward and had a word with her, and the woman went off among the shelves.

The woman behind the counter returned with three small cardboard boxes--and he was surprised to see not just Morning After AD, but condoms and dental dams. She didn't ask for an ID or anything like that. Mel wasn't sure what the procedure was for this kind of thing, but he stepped forward.

"I should pay," Mel said, raising his right hand, where the credit chip was embedded.

Nobody stopped him. He winced as the funds were debited. It was a good thing he liked ramen. As the woman placed the box into a bag, Rachel selected a tall, thin can of cold coffee from a fridge and bought it. At the counter, she read the instructions on the box, opened it there at the counter, and swallowed a pill with a slug of cold caffeinated liquid. The woman behind the counter didn't even blink.

"This afternoon," Rachel announced. "Is going to suck. I'm going to cramp like a motherfucker."

"Better a motherfucker than a fucking mother," 'stasia shot back. She was walking ahead of them now, and stared up at the sky, which was overcast and hid the stars, the moon, the first deep blue that promised dawn. "What do you think happened last night?"

Mel blinked. "I--I think the changeling was manipulating us, somehow. I mean, you saw the way the strap on Rache's ankle was cut, the alarm on the door. I saw--"

"You thought you saw," 'stasia said. "I know when I looked in the room, there was a pair of scissors on the floor. Rachel's scissors. You said you felt the top sheet pulled off of you, but I saw the top sheet wadded up in the dirty laundry pile, not at the foot of the bed. Nobody's actually seen this changeling yet, only you in your dream--and dreamsinging."

"What are you saying?" Rache said. "That Mel made it up? That doesn't make sense."

"I'm saying we shouldn't jump to conclusions," 'stasia said. "It's tempting to see everything as connected, but that's conspiratorial thinking. This isn't the first time you've sleepwalked across the hall for his dick. This isn't the first time Mel's had weird erotic dreams inspired by his recent experiences. I suspect that Mel's brain is trying to process things, and that's coming through as dreams, but the reality might be--different. There might not be a changeling manipulating you. Maybe you're both horny for each other and had unprotected sex as lots of people do."

That shut them up for a while.

"But how did I cut my own strap in my sleep?" Rachel said. "And undo his underwear? I haven't done that before."

"And how could Rache cut the shoestring on the door alarm?" Mel added. "And somehow not wake up anybody else in the apartment?"

"The question you should be asking," 'stasia said, "is how are we going to keep Rache from doing it again tonight? Because this is too expensive to make a regular habit."

Mel and Rachel had no answer to that.

A distant siren wailed. Ambulance, not fire. This part of the city was newer construction, but with facades of brick over the concrete, so that it looked like parts of New York. Mel knew plenty of television shows shot around Vancouver for that reason. Easy to double for bigger, older cities, as long as you didn't focus on the skyline. It was too dark to see the distant towers of downtown, but he often caught sight of them in glimpses between buildings.

"I was thinking," 'stasia said carefully. "That maybe Rachel could spend the night in my bed. That way, I'll know if she moves during the night."

Mel had to smile at that suggestion.

"Were you going to ask her to do that before or after this happened?" he asked.

'stasia cleared her throat. Rachel reached forward and goosed her ass.

"I mean, when she asked about the friends-with-benefits thing last night, I can't say I didn't stay awake in bed long into the night thinking about how nice it would be to hug my roommate like a body pillow and fall asleep cupping those tits..." 'stasia said, and her grin, when she turned back towards them as they stopped at a crosswalk for the light to change, was absolutely wicked. "... is that okay?"

Rache looked at Mel, who shrugged.

"Fine by me," he said. "As long as we're careful."

"Yeah, I was planning to check in with the campus health office, get an STD screening," 'stasia said. "Hopefully with a clean result I'll be able to actually taste that pussy. Although that will be after I get done with work. I've got a shift at the coffee shop soon."

In the hallway, Mel and Rachel paused.

"It's not your fault," she said softly, wrapping her arms about his head and drawing him close.

"You're going to feel bad tonight, and I won't be there to help kiss it better," he said.

"You can't solve all your problems with cunnilingus," Rache said, a hint of sadness in her voice. "But I love that you're willing to try."

The kiss wasn't well-aimed. She caught his bottom lip between hers, noses narrowly avoiding collision. They got it right on the second try, heads tilted just right, and she tasted like coffee and sugar. His hands found her hips, and for a moment Mel wondered what it would be like if the pill didn't work, if she was--but she broke the kiss before he finished that thought.

"We'll find time," Rache promised.

Mel stepped back into 501 to see Béibhinn sitting on the couch, holding a box like a small suitcase made of brushed aluminum on her lap. He recognized it, although he hadn't seen it for some time. The ghola had the lid up, and her eyes ran over the contents, the distinctly smooth phallic shape, yellowed like the ancient pool balls in the rec room at the orphanage. Sort of L-shaped, as though carved out of an ancient femur. Jordan and Jenny stood behind her, hands on the ghola's bare shoulders, and Mel could see their brain slugs were shifting colors, green to pink to green again.

All three women turned to see Mel.

"We got Rache a morning-after pill," he said. "What's up?"

Béibhinn's jaw worked. "Do you know what this is?"

Mel shook his head. "I assumed it was some kind of alien sex toy. Saw it once, weeks ago. Jordan had it. That was before Jenny moved in."

"This is a piece of extraterrestrial biotechnology," Béibhinn said. "Not a toy. I didn't know they had this. If the Collective knew... or the Rhizomat..."

She didn't finish the thought. Mel gestured at the box.

"What does it do?" He remembered to sign this time, embarrassed that he'd forgotten. Jordan and Jenny just stared at them, but their brain slugs went pure pink, and for a moment Béibhinn's eyes rolled up in her head, and her jaw worked like a cat yawning. When the spasm ended, the brain slugs had returned to their typical emerald, and Béibhinn snapped the box shut, standing up abruptly and pulling away from her roommates' hands.

"You know how humans have technology to select the healthiest sperm and eggs? Even select zygotes to pick the ones of a particular sex, or that don't have genetic diseases?" Béibhinn said. "Well, this is kind of a selector for brain slugs. It lets them filter their reproductive cells, control a lot of the variables that lead to mutation. The hive minds used to use this to implant embryos for development in a selected host and produce phenotypical spawn without budding."

Mel scratched his neck, thinking of slug flu. "Like... wasps? The ones that inject an egg into their prey, and it eats its way out."

The ghola's jaw worked as she handed the box to Jordan.

"It's proscribed technology. We're not supposed to use it anymore. There are agreements in place. There are stories--memories. Hive-worlds that kept hosts in cages, bred them in factories. Sub-sapient species, bred for specific traits, their every need taken care of so all they had to do was gestate brain slugs, which were destined to integrate with sapient hosts. Armies could be birthed and deployed in days. There were wars about this technology. The Seacouver Hive isn't supposed to have this. Yet they trusted this to you," Béibhinn addressed the last to Jordan.

"Because of the Program?" Mel said, thinking about how the government had placed him here, basically under the hope that a horny 18-year-old and a hungry brain slug host would see to each other's needs.

Béibhinn frowned. "Maybe. But if she was going to grow a slug in you, she would have done it already."

Jordan held the box and turned to stare at Mel. Her eyes looked wet. Jenny, next to her, began to sign. He spoke out loud, trying to remember the signs.

"Not... you," he said. Then she cradled her hands in front of her and her arms moved. Mel didn't know that one, but he could guess.

"Baby," he said. "You don't want to use it on me. You want to use it on the baby."

Jordan nodded.

Mel knew he was slow, but the piece clicked into place.

"They told us a while ago that one of their long-term goals was a hybrid. A brain slug integrated with a human fetus. Born together," he said. "They were saving that for when Rache gets pregnant. But they're being patient. Waiting for us."

"They might be," Béibhinn said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Certainly, if Jordan and Jenny had arranged last night's little event, they would have used it. What I'm concerned about is who else knows about this. If there is a changeling... this could be what they're after."

"To take it away from them?" Mel asked.

"To use it," the ghola said. "Changelings are designed to be sterile. This could change that."

CHAPTER 118

"Dominance Shift" is the phrase that haunts this century. Will homo sapiens remain the dominant species on planet Earth? Or will some other species or coalition of species achieve a combination of political, economic, and/or military superiority to the point that humanity becomes second-class citizens on the world they evolved on? Many dominance shift fears surround brain slugs. By contrast, brain slugs fear only one thing: extinction. They recognize their ability to infiltrate, their instinct to reproduce and overrun. It is an urge the hive minds must fight, as sudden uncontrolled integration would unite all species against them.

--Anastasia Massimi, Slugnomicon: A Guide To Brain Slug Spirituality (unpublished draft)

The walk into work was somber. Jordan and Jenny walked arm-in-arm with Mel, only breaking the bond when they had to steer around trash cans or other pedestrians. Mel couldn't quite wrap his mind around the implications. It was hard, on an early spring day as the city's pulse began to pick up, the smells of fresh pretzels wafting from bakeries and ladybugs in the air, to think that something that looked like a fossilized dildo could get everyone so upset.

A flutter of wings as they approached the Cosmic Fill-Up caught his eye. The bluebird was returning to the nest, a soft green caterpillar in its beak. Mel smiled. The early bird had gotten the worm. Not metaphorically. He thought of the blue shirt he was wearing, and how he was here to work and get money so he could bring food back to his nest.

"Go for it, buddy," Mel told the bird before he headed in, ready for whatever the day might bring.

Mel was not ready for the dinosaur reading a magazine in the dining area.

The long, slender mottled-green neck rose almost to the ceiling, arcing gently to let the comparatively small head hang. The eyes--they were recognizably eyes--were bulbous, and oddly crystalline. Two were set on the sides of the head, and the other two were set straight forward, which gave the odd impression that it was looking at you no matter where you were in the room. After Mel signed in, he moved to get the swifter from the supply closet.

It wasn't really a small apatosaurus, although it superficially resembled one. Quadruped, about the size of a horse but on comparatively thick, elephantine legs, the broad feet encased in almost circular rubber-soled shoes. Bony nodules were visible on the wrinkly skin, although the broad, humped back was covered with a kind of barding; a kind of knit blanket in black and white zigzag patterns, with a pair of giant black fanny packs like saddlebags strapped around the middle. Closer, Mel could see some of the differences from any reproduction of a dinosaur Mel had ever seen.

There were two tails, each of which ended in a three-digit manipulator, each one like a thumb. The mouth had no teeth, but opened to show a kind of bristle or moustache inside. A device that looked a bit like a harmonica hung below the jaw, wires connecting with the small, smooth, bald skull. The shoulders and hips were also taller, the neck connecting lower, suggesting a skeletal structure and body plan subtly different from Earth dinosaurs. Mel thought of a documentary they had watched, how various species had settled on a crocodilian body shape, despite not being closely related. Convergent evolution.

He wondered what conditions the Etherlings had evolved under.

The magazine was, Mel noticed, a copy of the latest Slug Fucker Monthly. Beside the magazine was a small cardboard bucket with a shiny metallic cover and a straw. A standard container from the Etherling food station. The head shifted on the long neck, bringing the face level with Mel's, but showing only one eye.

((Hello)), the voice came from the metal device that hung below the Etherling's jaw. ((I am designated Sixty-Nine.))

"Hi," Mel said. "I'm Mel Arkwright."

((Yvraine MacElroy asked me to speak to you, Mel Arkwright.))

Mel nodded. "She said I'd be speaking with an Etherling today. Why do they call you Etherlings, if you don't mind me asking?"

((It was an early translation of our demonym. Humans and other species that evolved naturally on planets were translated as 'groundlings' in our language, so the translator suggested 'Etherlings' for our species designation. Some humans prefer to call us Voidborn or Spacewalkers. We believe they think this sounds more 'science fiction.' We struggle to grasp this concept.)) Sixty-Nine said.

Mel tilted his head. "You didn't evolve on a planet? You seem pretty well adapted to it."

((Our species was engineered within the last eighteen thousand of your solar cycles,)) Sixty-Nine said. ((We believe we were designed for exploration; our body incorporates air bladders and air-filled cavities within our bones that can adapt to various gravities and atmospheric pressures, and our design combines features often seen in both predator and prey species. We do not reproduce naturally, but use artificial gestation technology. Culturally, we display many relic practices of former ownership. My designation, Sixty-Nine is the opening of the reference designation of my clonal ancestor, 69006518, believed to be a mark of ownership.))

"Wow," Mel thought. "Um. Humans used to have a system of chattel slavery. In history class, we learned some of the former slaves took on the last names of their former masters. That sounds analogous."

((An apt parallel,)) Sixty-Nine agreed, bobbing its head in a very human gesture. Mel wondered if that was natural to the species, or was a learned behavior. The head dipped down and slurped from the straw.

"Your food is a different chirality than Earth's," Mel said, wondering if he had said that correctly. "From what I gather, that's a bit uncommon among extraterrestrial species. Do you share that with your, um, makers?"

((We believe we were designed that way on purpose,)) Sixty-Nine said. ((We believe it was intended as a method of control, to ensure our dependency. After our freedom, we focused on chemistry and food production out of necessity. We are now the pre-eminent species in the Exodus in terms of this area of knowledge, and our technology has become standard in many colonies.))

"Freedom," Mel said. "When did that happen? Who made you?"

((We do not remember,)) Sixty-Nine said. ((It occurred during a prehistoric phase of our civilization. Few records survive; polities and governments rise and fall, and we can trace back only about four thousand of your solar cycles. Much history is lost. Our people are wanderers, living predominantly in colony-ships, establishing small outposts, but prizing interstellar mobility. Every planetary settlement is, after all, ultimately temporary.))

Mel blinked. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

((Most groundlings do not. They have a sentimental attachment to the planet they evolved on, the biosphere keyed to their own biology. We know that in ten thousand years, greenhouse gas effects or global glaciation may render this planet far less habitable. Asteroid impacts that cause mass extinction events may occur every 100 million years. Eventually, your sun will burn out. By then, the Etherlings will have moved on.)) Sixty-Nine said.

The electronic voice didn't offer much in the way of inflection, no accent, no emotion, just the occasional emphasis as of someone for whom English is a second or third language and the pronunciation is more technically correct but stilted. Yet it was the content that struck Mel. He wasn't used to thinking that someday, everything he knew and loved would be dust, although intellectually he had been dimly aware of the fact that the planet had changed vastly over the course of billions of years, and there was no reason to believe that would ever stop.

After a pause, Sixty-Nine continued. ((Are you the being indicated in this headline?))

The Etherling's tail tapped the page. Mel turned around to see what he was pointing at, drawing closer to the alien. Sixty-Nine did not shy away, and this close he noticed an oddly sweet smell that was nevertheless somewhat off, like the aftertaste of diet and zero-calorie sodas. Mel looked down to where the small grey-green digit pointed, noting that it didn't have a nail or claw. He winced as he saw a headshot of Kayce O'Bannon and the headline: "Next Month: An Exclusive Interview With The Man Sucked Off By A K'lur'k!"

"Probably, yeah," Mel admitted. "I talked to Kayce the other day as background for her article. I asked her to keep my name out of it, though."

((Why?)) The Etherling said. ((As you embarrassed by sexual relations outside your species?))

Mel blinked and considered that.

"Not exactly," the human said finally. "I mean, two of my girlfriends are brain slug hosts. I'm--not really experienced with social relationships. Human sexual politics and social situations can get complicated, even before adding extraterrestrials, and I'm fairly young and come from an unusual upbringing, no parents to serve as examples, outside of major religions to influence me. Probably absorbed more about what a relationship should be like from watching films and television and reading books and comics than anything else. So... I guess I don't have the same kind of qualms about these relationships, but I'm also not sure what I'm supposed to feel about them, and I kind of worry about how others will perceive me? Which is bullshit, but, um. Very human."

The Etherling bobbed its head again and took another suck on its cup. This close, Mel could see the lips work. The jaw wasn't designed for biting, but it anchored the muscles in the head for the suction through that kind of whale-like baleen or whatever, and then presumably down the very long esophagus. That seemed inconvenient for a spaceship, but Mel had no idea what an Etherling craft looked like. Maybe they just strapped in, and the head moved everywhere. The tails, he could see, were as long as the neck, so it had a really impressive reach if it stretched out.

((I understand,)) Sixty-Nine said. ((Our species is, in a sense, orphaned. We do not have family structures as such. We cannot reproduce sexually, though we can have sex. There are many different relationships, but we all find our own way once we leave the education creche. Humans are interesting. You willingly have sexual relations outside your species, some of you. You... imagine it. The literature is vast.))

Mel scratched his chin. "Etherlings don't have erotic fiction about aliens?"

((We do not have erotic fiction,)) Sixty-Nine said. ((We do not have fiction at all. Our species was not created to dream; our imaginations are... limited. Whoever designed us did not do so with creativity in mind. We are intelligent. We observe and adapt from others. Sometimes, we can synthesize. Yet we do not make innovative leaps. We can appreciate your arts, reproduce the products, but not the process.))

"Wow," Mel said. He tried to imagine what that was like, then smiled as he realized he was doing instinctively what Sixty-Nine said they could not do. "I know cultures are ultimately all made-up, but like with your whole planets-aren't-forever approach, I hadn't really thought about the implications before. I remember Two-Clicks--the K'lur'k--she told me when her people fled, they didn't really take any porn along. Nobody prioritized it. So now they just don't have any, and the young ones like her are using human porn. I guess your people do something similar?"

Another head-bob.

((We have documented the process. It is the same with every refugee wave. While some attempt to retain their old culture, the material environment that informed that culture is gone, many of the records are gone, the elders die, and none replace them. Knowledge is lost. The host planet always has an outsized influence on the culture of their new colonists,)) Sixty-Nine said. ((Human sexual openness is unusual, however. We do not often see this level of social integration this quickly. You are exceptional in this regard, Mel Arkwright. I hope you are an indication of the future.))

Mel blinked. "Why is that?"

((Because I have studied the historical records. Etherlings have fled from world to world, as needs and circumstances dictate. We have seen societies that rejected integration. Some descended into madness and insularity. Others grew violent. A single spark can erupt into conflict. Such wars are wasteful and disastrous for all,)) Sixty-Nine said in that odd, affectless voice. ((Every species in the Exodus had to run simulations regarding how contact with humans would go. In all of them, direct conflict was disastrous. Billions of humans would die; entire species would be eradicated.))

"The DeBeers incident," Mel said, remembering what he had read about the orbital strike.

((Yes. There were some who suggested sending asteroids to bombard the planet from orbit. We have the technology to do this. We still could. However, the results were sub-optimal. Co-existence represents the best result for all of our species,)) Sixty-Nine said. ((Regrettably, not all see this. It is an ongoing point of potential conflict. I hate politics.))

Mel nearly laughed. It was the single most relatable thing that the Etherling had said.

"I think everyone hates politics," Mel said.

Sixty-Nine sucked down more good. Mel heard that straw-at-the-bottom-of-the-cup sound that sent a shiver down his spine.

((I must go now, but I have a request,)) Sixty-Nine said. ((I have seen your video with the K'lur'k. The Seacouver Embassy of the Etherling Collective is interested in the possibilities of human/alien sexual interaction as it applies to Etherlings. We would like to arrange such an encounter to be recorded for educational purposes. May this slut suck your cock?))

Mel blinked. Those were the exact same words that Two-Clicks had used. They really had zero imagination. Or at least, not much.

"I need to ask my girlfriends," Mel said, voice oddly numb. He had not expected this today. He felt a hand at his elbow. It was Jordan. He wasn't sure when she had come up behind him, or how much of their conversation that she had heard. Enough, apparently. She stared into the four eyes of the Etherling and gave a thumb's up.

((We will also need more space. This bathroom is inadequate. But I will contact you again. Perhaps next week?))

Mel nodded.

"Sure. Next week," he agreed.

The Etherling disposed of its drink container in the appropriate receptacle. It gathered the magazine from the table and walked to the counter, checking out--Mel noticed that it placed one three-fingered appendage on the charge-plate and realized it must have a credit chip implanted there. Then it walked, the four legs moving in an oddly graceful gait, out of the Cosmic Fill-Up.

Until next week.

CHAPTER 119

How alone must it feel to be a changeling? Neither fungus nor slug, yet something in between, a part of neither, with no history and no legacy. Once a changeling dies, it is as though they have never been. Who or what can carry on their memory?

--Anastasia Massimi, Slugnomicon: A Guide To Brain Slug Spirituality (unpublished draft)

The afternoon was busier than normal. Most of them were faces Mel didn't recognize as regulars. More than a few had on purple headbands, or purple bands around their upper arms. Ha-Yoon saw the first one of those and frowned, ordering Jordan and Jenny to take care of something in the back room, which left Mel to handle the register for the whole crowd.

Mel had basic training on the register, although mostly the brain slug hosts handled it. The Cosmic Fill-Up had simplified the interface to the point where practically anyone with a pulse could operate it. Even the minimal social function of asking questions was obviated by little signs and glowing letters that could appear on the shield above the counter. For brain slug hosts, who couldn't speak verbally, that was a plus. Most people didn't even try to engage them in conversation. To Mel, it was slightly unnerving how rote and mechanical the role was, how little the customers seemed to see him.

It made him wonder if he was treating Jordan and Jenny the same way. Taking them for granted.

"Slug cultists," Ha-Yoon explained, as the shift ended and most of the traffic had died down. "They've been looking at the mural out back. Hopefully they don't recognize your paramours."

"My what?" Mel asked.

"Your partners. Girlfriends. Fuckbuddies-with-added-responsibilities," the manager said with a smirk. "I'm buying you a dictionary for Christmas."

"Right," Mel said. He caught sight of Molly's Protoss pull in. He turned to his 'paramours.' "Looks like my ride is here. I'll see you tonight at home and--"

Mel dropped his voice into a whisper and drew them both into a hug.

"I feel like I've been neglecting you lately. What wth all the stuff that's been happening. But I'll make it up to you," he promised. "I know I don't say it as much as I said, but I care about you both."

Jordan and Jenny each gave him a kiss before they left. Molly did not beep her horn, though she looked like she wanted to. Mel waved and opened the passenger-side door. He watched Jenny and Jordan walk away, towards their apartment, hand in hand. As they had before they'd met him. Something about that thought made his heart ache a little.

Molly had earrings in today, small and sparkly gems; a black business coat and matching pants, a tight red sweater, and red-and-black flat heels. Mel, in his blue Cosmic Fill-up shirt, black jeans, and hoodie, felt underdressed. He ran a hand over his chin, glad he'd shaved this morning. He didn't want to look too scrubby in front of Molly's mother.

The inside of the Ford Protoss was all pale yellow trim and blue edge-lighting, as if powered by psychic crystals. The vehicle had an auto-driver mode, but Molly didn't use it. He watched her shift gears manually, eyes and head flicking from mirrors to the dashboard-mounted smartscreen that showed various camera angles around the car. Mel, who had never learned to drive--after all, Seacouver had decent public transportation and the cost of a vehicle seemed immense when measured in how much ramen you could buy for the same amount of money--was impressed at how she moved through traffic, deftly ignoring small warning tones when she got too close to cars and trucks around her, and pulled in, without any major hassle, to Poulet Frit Kentucky.

"Why is it PFK and not KFC?" Mel wondered aloud. He also noticed that Molly had a manilla folder tucked under one arm.

"In Quebec, we preferred the French name. After the chain was broken up, some franchises remained in private ownership. This is a rare one. Same original recipe, but they also have poutine, pommes frites, pain au chocolat, and macarons," Molly said.

Mel held the door open for Molly, then followed her inside. It smelled like fried chicken and baking bread. Most of the interior seemed to be molded from a single piece of plastic; the red and white chairs and tables extruded from the walls, though if Mel looked closely, he could see the seams. There was a central counter area, through which Mel could see the kitchen, full of young men and women in smart uniforms, and a dining area that consisted mostly of small booths.

In one of them sat an older version of Molly. She stood up as the two of them entered, and Mel saw she was both taller and thinner than her daughter, the skin darker and richer, yet the eyes were almost the same. She was as tall as Mel, in fact, and while there were touches of silver in her tightly coiffed black hair, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were neither many nor deep. Her own business dress was maroon with silver accents, the hem falling just below the knee.

Molly and her mother smiled and hugged one another with an honest, open affection that made Mel's heart ache. Their lips pressed together in a friendly kiss. He couldn't remember ever having received such a hug as a child.

"Ma mère, this is Mel," she said. "Mon frère. Mel, this is a mère, Lucie Maguire."

Mel wasn't sure how to handle this. A hug seemed out of the question, so he stuck out his hand.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," he said.

Then their eyes met. Mel could not read the expression in those eyes, but for a moment the older woman's expression faltered.

"Oh!" she said. "You look just like your father."

Lucie brushed past Mel's outstretched hands and enveloped him in her arms. He was too keenly aware of her breasts crushing into his chest, the tight squeeze. Her lips brushed his. No real pressure, but it shocked him just the same. Not sure where to place his hands, he settled on putting them around her back and giving a light squeeze in return. She held him there a moment longer before releasing him.

In the booth, Mel took the inside and Molly the outside; her mother was on the opposite side. The flat tabletop came alive with menus in French and English. Mel frowned as he looked through the options, not sure what to order and looking, instinctively, at the cheapest options.

Lucie would have none of that. Her fingers jabbed neatly at the table, selecting a "Festin familial," with salads, drinks, and a side of pommes frites with poutine.

"My treat," she explained. "Now... I'm sure you have questions about your father."

"I mean, I don't want to intrude on personal matters," Mel said, glancing at Molly. "But you knew my father. What was he like?"

Lucie closed her mind for a moment, and sank into the back of the booth. For a second, Mel felt her toe brush his leg under the table.

"I met James at university," she explained. "My husband and I were already married. Seamus already knew he couldn't have children. So we had no qualms about swinging, really. We both took precautions, but as it came time to graduate, I knew I wanted a child, very badly. Medical options were expensive. Seamus and I discussed the matter with your father. He agreed to be an unofficial sperm donor. Nothing changed, really, except for six weeks neither of us used protection and kept exclusively to ourselves. By the time I had my diploma, I was eight weeks pregnant with Molly dearest."

"And then you and mon père moved to Montreal," Molly said.

"Yes. Seamus had a job offer; I had family there. We bought a house, started in our careers, and here we are, almost twenty years later," Lucie said.

Molly's face went blank. Mel saw her slide the folder across the tabletop to her mother. Lucie raised one eyebrow and opened it. There, Mel saw, was a printout of the photo that Mel had found online, of Lucie pregnant.

"Ah," Lucie said. "So you know about that."

"No, we do not," Molly said, and there was a hint of hurt in her voice. "Explain it to us, please."

Lucie sighed, and her eyelids drooped. Long, elegant brown fingers caressed the print-out image.

"That," the older woman said. "Was when I was pregnant with Melville."

Mel's heart skipped a beat. His whole body jittered, an uncontrollable twitch, muscles tensing and releasing without his conscious effort.

"After James got married, we stayed in touch," Lucie explained. "We were no longer intimate, but he wanted to keep up the friendship, check in on how the baby was doing. Seamus understood, although they were never really friends after I gave birth. Your papa once confided to me that it was very difficult to remain friends with the man who impregnated his wife. A bit old-fashioned but... anyway. James said that his wife couldn't bear children. Cancer, damage to the uterus and fallopian tubes. They wanted a surrogate, someone to carry the child to term; I'd already been through one successful pregnancy. So your father and I agreed to an embryo transfer. James's sperm, Sinead's egg, and my womb. It all worked wonderfully."

The drinks arrived, tall paper cups full of sugary liquid and ice. No one touched them.

"The last time I saw you, I was in the recovery room. Sinead had you in her arms. James, the proud father. It is how I always remember both of them," she said, with a sigh. She turned to Molly: "You actually got to meet him, though you were too young to remember. I remember you stared at him with these huge dark eyes; he gripped your little hand in his own. It was an adorable moment. You didn't want to let him go!"

Mel found himself gripping the edge of the table. Molly laid her hand on his.

"Then we went our separate ways," Lucie continued. "They had a life back in Seacouver, jobs, an apartment; I had my husband and daughter. We kept in touch through email for a while, but with young children it's so easy to... lose track."

Mel could see Molly's jaw work. Her hand gripped his wrist hard.

"When did you find out they died?" he asked. His voice trembled, heart in his throat. Mel realized he was grabbing the table with both hands, forearms so tensed that it hurt. He wasn't sure what emotion he was feeling right now, but he was feeling a lot of it.

Lucie swallowed. Reached for her cup and took a sip. Then she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, a little calming ritual that seemed to center her as she sat up straighter.

"I hadn't heard from James in eight months. We didn't find out about their death until the announcement came over the alumni newsletter almost a year later. They had no immediate family, you see, and the state handled the burial. We just saw their names on the death roll with the others who had passed and--we didn't know what happened to you. Whether you had died, or been put up for adoption. It--wasn't our business--"

A pit seemed to open in Mel's stomach. He had only been four. If they had asked--applied--he could have grown up with Molly. Could have had a home, a family. Mel forced himself to let go of the tabletop, Molly's hand falling away, sagging back into the bench, consumed for a moment with what-ifs.

Molly stood up, knuckles on the table, visibly shaking, tears in her eyes.

"Crisse de câlice de tabarnak d'esti de sacrament de trou viarge!" she said. "He was mon frère and you never even looked for him?"

Lucie's mouth was in a tight line before she spoke, and Mel could see the pain in her own eyes. "He wasn't ours! We had no claim to him! We didn't know--"

"Because you never asked! You never told me! I would have--" Molly almost screamed. She stormed out of the booth and walked away sobbing.

For a moment, Mel and Lucie just stared at each other. Then Mel slid his way out of the booth and went after his sister. He caught up with her in the parking lot as she was unlocking her Protoss, the dull mechanical tones of "My life for Aiur!" ringing out of the speakers.

"Molly, wait," Mel caught her by the shoulder.

She spun and buried her face into his chest. Mel wrapped his arms around his sister and hugged her as she cried it out. This felt much more natural than earlier. Or maybe Mel was more used to being an emotional tear sponge. Whatever the case, he planted his feet and held her close. The crying jag lasted for a minute or two before the sobs stopped and Molly began to sniffle.

"It's okay," he said quietly.

"It is not okay," she said. "We could have been--"

"I know," Mel said. "Trust me, I know. But your mom said they hadn't been in touch, didn't know if I was alive or dead, and they already had a precocious little three-year-old daughter running around. Adding a toddler to the mix--adopting from all the way in Quebec--that would have been tough. Look, one thing I learned in the orphanage is that it's better not to have a kid if you can't take care of them than to have one and hope for the best. They chose to focus on raising you. And you're great."

Molly sniffed. Mel heard the door open and turned to see Lucie standing there, an expression of grief and loss etched on her face.

"Molly," she said quietly. "The poutine is here. You should eat it before it gets cold."

Cheese curds and wedges of fried potato helped. The Colonel's secret blend of herbs and spices didn't help ease the wound, but it was the best fried chicken Mel had ever tasted, which Molly would have found sad.

"Ma mère's is better," Molly said.

"I'll have to make some for you, sometime," Lucie said with a smile. "Seeing as you--are--family now."

"Um--thanks. I'd like that," Mel said.

The weird détente felt more uncomfortable than before. In no small part because Lucie's toe kept finding Mel's leg under the table. He wasn't sure how to handle that, so he did his best to ignore it. And the sidelong glances she cast at him as she delicately devoured a thigh.

It didn't get truly weird until Molly went to the bathroom, leaving Lucie and Mel alone at the table for a moment.

"You and Molly aren't--you know," she said, her mouth twisting as if choosing the right word. "Dating?"

Mel's eyes opened wide. "What? No! I mean, she's my sister. And I'm--in a relationship."

"Hmm," Lucie hummed, and her toe moved up past his knee. Mel felt weirdly trapped in the booth, aware Molly could come back at any moment. "That's probably a good thing. If you're as gifted as your father--and anything like he was at your age--well--"

Her eyes grew distant. As if she wasn't really seeing him.

"I love my husband, I really do. Yet when Molly told me about you, all the memories came flooding back," she said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper, as if talking to herself. "He was very conscientious, James. Diligent. Considerate. Thorough. Even Seamus never--well--measured up. Oh, he loved your mother; I never doubted that, but if things had been different--he and I might have--but that was a very long time ago. And we can't undo the past."

He cleared his throat, not sure he liked where this was going.

"I am sorry, Mel. It's always easier to see things in hindsight. What we should have done. Opportunities we missed out on. I'm sorry you grew up without a sister--a mother--to love you--" Lucie's eyes seemed to focus on Mel, then. "But now that I am here, well, I'm not your mother, but we can still be--friends. Maybe more than friends."

As Molly returned, Lucie's foot disappeared, and Mel felt a sense of relief. He wondered if all family dinners were this emotionally fraught and confusing. This one was certainly a bit stranger than the ones he had seen on television.

Soon enough, however, the meal was all over except for the wet wipes and macarons. Mel gave a bare-bones explanation of his existence. Years in the orphanage. Getting an apartment with a brain slug roommate. Finding a job at the Cosmic Fill-Up.

"So... when did you start looking for your family?" Lucie asked.

"Ah--well, my neighbor across the hall, Antonio? He attacked his roommate, who was also a brain slug host. Her name is Jenny. When we intervened, he stabbed me in the foot and ran off. Jenny couldn't make her shift, and Jordan had to take care of Jenny, so my manager said I had to come into work--"

"With a stab wound!?" Lucie's voice rose in concern. "Qu'est ce que fuck?"

"Yeah. Um. My manager treated it when I got in, but she sent a blood sample off for DNA testing, and it came up with a match for Molly! So that's how we met," Mel said. He smiled, although even as he relayed the story, he realized it wasn't very funny.

Molly took a wet nap and wiped at his face.

"Well," Lucie said. "That's--interesting. I'm going to be in town for a couple of days. I'd like to see you both again. Get to know you better, Mel."

"Sure," Mel said, then, with his brain on autopilot, he added, "I'd like to get to know you more, Mrs. Maguire."

Once the words were out of his mouth, Mel cringed internally. He did not mean for it to come out like that. The older woman smiled. There was something predatory in that smile.

"Please call me Lucie," she said. "We're not strangers anymore, after all."

CHAPTER 120

Brain slugs are evolutionarily adapted to learn through integration; by taking in a native being into the hive mind, they learn much about their biology, culture, and how they think. Yet this very capability is counter-productive when dealing with technologically advanced species, or those with strong cultural cohesion. If they do not wish to be seen as invaders, they need other ways to learn. This, I suspect, is the true purpose of changelings.

--Anastasia Massimi, Slugnomicon: A Guide To Brain Slug Spirituality (unpublished draft)

"I'm still kind of pissed at her," Mollie admitted, as she drove Mel back to his apartment building. There had been another awkward good-bye hug and kiss, and then Lucie had gotten into her rental car, Mel and Mollie had gotten into the Protoss, and they were off.

"She didn't know," Mel said again. He wondered if he said it enough to make him feel better. Fifteen years in an orphanage. Intellectually, he could see Lucie's point. There was no genetic relation, except that he was half-brother to her daughter. No legal obligation. No legal claim. Nobody could blame the Maguires for not looking for him. He wasn't theirs.

"Even if they did know, there's no guarantee. Not every adoption gets approved. It's not as simple as just driving by and picking one out," he said, which was true. However, he had seen people try to do just that. Just not with him. Their eyes would slide right past Mel.

Fifteen fucking years of being passed over by everyone looking to adopt. From the baby who wasn't cute enough to the kid who wasn't smart or sporty enough to the teen who was already trying to pretend he had no hope yet. Mel stared out the window and felt the loss of fifteen years without a sister.

I would have been good, Mel thought to himself, and he felt the wetness in his eyes and recognized how dangerous that thought was. I would have done chores, I would have obeyed, I would...

Mollie's hand hit the steering wheel.

"But I could have had a brother!" she said, voice choked with emotion. For a moment, Mel was afraid for her, trying to navigate the car through her tears. Then he saw she was waiting for a spot to open up, another car pulling out not far from the building. "You could have..."

"We've got each other now," Mel said, and forced a smile. It was a tight smile, and he remembered that night at the compound when Rache had been offered the pearl. This was the same kind of smile, a different sort of hurt. Bad luck didn't seem to encompass it. He didn't want to follow that thread of thought. What it meant. It wasn't that he was forgotten.

Mel just... wasn't wanted.

They hugged again. Mollie buried her face into his shoulder. Mel tried to keep his composure, but he could feel himself clutching her too tightly, and a sniffle escaped.

"Are you okay?" she said, her voice softer now.

"Not really, no," Mel said, honestly. "Just a lot tonight, you know? It was good to meet your mom, but I wasn't expecting... all that. I never even considered my mother might have used a surrogate. I knew we shared a parent, but I didn't think we shared..."

"A womb," Mollie said, and her hug felt different somehow. More tender. "Ma mère est tu..."

"No," Mel said, and was surprised at the hurt in his voice. "She isn't. That's not just a technicality. We don't... have a relationship. Genetically. Socially. She's my half-sister's mom. Not mine. She didn't want..."

He caught himself before he said it. Afraid the tears really would start.

Now it was Mollie's turn to sniff.

"Maybe we can change that," she whispered.

Mel didn't know what she meant about that. Before she could explain, she kissed his forehead. He smiled and said good night as he got out of the car.

"Tomorrow," she said. "After work. I'll pick you up."

He gave her a thumb's up.

Out on the street. Mel's feet guided him to the apartment building. Night had fallen, and his stomach was full of fried chicken and biscuits, yet Mel's thoughts went back into that dark place.

He couldn't blame Lucie. He couldn't. If their positions had been reversed--but his brain wouldn't accept that. His whole life, Mollie had everything he hadn't. Mel couldn't blame her for that either, but the thought of it seemed to grow inside of his skull, pushing every other thought out.

It was crueler to imagine what might have been. At least before, Mel had known there was no one there for him. No parents, no grandparents, no cousins or siblings. Just him, alone in the universe. To learn that he wasn't... that there had been someone who could have...

The tears started before he got to the hallway. His body wracked with sobs that Mel had forced down so many times in his life and now couldn't stop. Jordan was on her knees before the couch, shaving Jenny. Probably getting everything ready for the special moment he'd promised them.

They were on him in a moment, no attempts to sign, to ask, which was good because Mel wasn't sure he could manage the words right now. Jordan's skin was hot against his as she pulled him against her breasts, his tears running down her cleavage. Jenny was behind him, her hands wrapped tight around his midsection.

Mel couldn't stop. Couldn't pull away. It wasn't physical pain that held him rocking there between two naked women. It was the sum of weeks of stress and strain, revelations of secrets he hadn't known he even had. For a moment, he thought he understood something of what Rache had felt when she had found Jordan. The sister she thought was dead, and who was, in a sense, gone forever. Replaced by someone who looked just like her, had her memories, but was also something else. Someone else.

I found my family, Mel thought. And they didn't want me.

That wasn't right. Mel knew that. It wasn't his rational mind speaking. It was the self-hating part of himself that knew he wasn't worth loving. Yet he couldn't let it go.

Mel wasn't sure when Béibhinn O'Malley had entered the main room, or how long she had seen him crying there. The ghola punched his arm.

"Hey," she said, then cocked her head at Jordan. "Eat her pussy."

The words hit Mel like a hammer between the eyes.

"I get you had some sort of shitty experience, but you can't just wallow in misery," Béibhinn said. "You need to be proactive about it. Do something. How long has it been since you ate her out?"

Mel stared, but the sobs stopped.

"Too long," he said, wiping his eyes. "Way too long."

They were gentle about it, but insistent. Unwrapping him like a present. Until he was on his knees, Jordan spreading the fresh-shaven labia to show him the soft pink insides. This close, he could smell her aroma, the soft hints of salty excitement, and see the sheen of moisture. Wet and ready for him. Mel forced himself to go slow. Running the tip of his tongue up from her urethra to the underside of her little clit. Letting her leg slide over his shoulder and guiding his face where she wanted it to go.

Behind him, Jenny busied herself with sliding a condom onto the steely shaft. The small, hard nipples of her breasts pressed into his back as her forearms worked, slowly stroking him, squeezing his balls. Planting little kisses along his spine. Mel could hardly remember a time when he had been scared of their touch, afraid of what they might do to him.

They didn't moan. But he heard the naked women pant in unison. Their breathing synchronized as they moved, all three bodies a unit. Mel lost himself in the movement, focused on swirling his tongue all around that stiff little nub of sensitive flesh, feeling his body ache as the load built up slowly, his hips moving as Jenny stroked, building up toward a release.

Unprepared for when Jenny suddenly pulled him back.

Then he saw why.

Jordan was red-faced, legs in the air, holding her labia open so that he could see the muscles squeeze and spasm within. The brain slug that peeked around her neck was a vibrant green, brighter than he had ever seen, and with both hands, Jenny guided the condom-clad tip of him into Jordan's hot hole.

Mel gasped, fighting the immediate urge to blow. Slowly, achingly, without stopping, watching Jordan's mouth hiccup in little O's as he bottomed out inside of her, and for a moment Mel thought about Rache and worried he had gone too deep, too fast, that he had hurt her.

Instead, the blonde reached out, grabbed his head, and drew his mouth down to hers. Their mouths met with a heat and need that went beyond words, Mel's hips grinding his length deep inside of her. Jenny's tongue slipped down to the crack of his ass, sucking out the sweat there. Her fingers pressed against his perineum, and Mel groaned into Jordan's mouth.

Not further. Not yet. Yet Mel felt her fingers press against that terrible throbbing point of pressure. Her teeth bit his left buttcheek, a sharp little sting that made him jump, pressing even deeper inside Jordan, and Jordan's nails dug into his shoulders as she sucked at his tongue. They moved like that, the women setting the pace, Mel moving to their rhythm, desperately trying to hold on, to stretch out the sensation, to get Jordan to climax before he did.

The explosion came too soon. He fought it, but it was like fighting the tide. Rising from the base of his prick and burning the whole length of his shaft, Mel quivered as he struggled in the grip of his two girlfriends, giving in to the biological inevitability. When it finally burst, silver stars danced in front of Mel's eyes. He jumped inside of her, hips never stopping, and her length gripped and stroked him as if to milk every drop.

Mel pulled out, and immediately his mouth fell onto that hot, wet muff. Jordan's mouth opened in a rictus that would have scared him if he had seen it, a mask of fulfilled need as her whole body began to shake and shiver, the brain slug flashing through several shades of green.

Distantly, Mel was aware that the used condom was pulled off. Maybe Béibhinn took it. Mel wasn't sure. He knew that eventually his tongue felt numb, and Jordan pushed him off to land on his back on the floor.

Jenny was already putting the second condom on him. Her hand was tight around the base of him, wiggling it back and forth, slapping it against her own wet and ready slit. He felt the familiar ache as they refused to let him go soft, stroking and finally pressing his half-hard erection inside of the Asian brain slug host. Her hands gripped his hips as she balanced on her heels, rising and falling slowly, gripping him with her vaginal muscles, never letting him slip out until blood flooded the tired tissues until he was hard again.

Her ass bounced faster once he was stiff. Jenny's left hand found her clit, and then Béibhinn must have turned out the light, because the room became dark except for the glowing whites of Jordan and Jenny's eyes. It was eerie, in the dark, to feel her move on top of him. To feel her rise and fall, measuring her excitement solely by the speed of her hips, the brush of her buttocks against his thighs.

Jordan must have straddled his chest. He lost sight of Jenny's glowing eyes. She grabbed his arms and guided his hands to her breasts, the warm handfuls slick with sweat, the sensitive little nipples stiff and delicate beneath his exploring fingers. He could feel every little bump and ridge, and her hot slit dribbled on his chest, her excitement evident even now.

This time, Jenny's nails dug into his stomach as her pussy clamped, impossibly tight. Mel felt Jordan's hand explore his face, her thumb forcing itself into his mouth, pinning his tongue down as she rubbed herself against his body, the way she had done that time she and Jenny had marked him after Tomie had cornered him in the bathroom.

A reaffirmation, maybe. That he was theirs, and they were his.

Unseen hands peeled off the second condom. Mel panted, his existential sorrow momentarily gone in the afterglow. He needed to clean up, go to bed--there was work in the morning.

Then he felt the cold weight of the cage on his half-swollen, sated manhood. Mel felt as much as heard the click of the lock.